


Garreg Mach Boarding School for the Troubled Youth

by Meatbike344



Series: Let the Right One In [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Tragedy, Blackmail, Blood and Gore, Character Death, Claude von Riegan is a Little Shit, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd Needs a Hug, Everyone Needs Therapy, Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Manipulation, Masturbation, Murder, Murder-Suicide, Obsession, Possessive Behavior, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sociopath, Suicidal Thoughts, Violence, Yandere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:54:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 107,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25614673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meatbike344/pseuds/Meatbike344
Summary: As long as he was stuck at this school, this prison, where problem children are dumped off to be fixed, Claude planned on making life as comfortable as he can for himself.But that's nearly impossible with overly religious wardens, crazy housemates, and a school with enough mental issues to make a case study.But that all will hardly matter once he becomes the king, even if it means sticking a few metaphorical knives in some unsuspecting backsides.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Edelgard von Hresvelg, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Series: Let the Right One In [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1856698
Comments: 112
Kudos: 217





	1. The New Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude is abandoned; finds the leash of authority too much for him; is introduced to his new wild family; he begins to scheme

"Do you have something to say to us before you leave?”

She had expected a snide remark, some undercurrent of sarcasm and mockery to truly steal away their final moments together. Instead, what she received was silence—but that in of itself was mocking.

A lone, shuddering sigh escaped from the lips of her husband; he gripped the steering wheel until some white ebbed painfully beneath the brown of his skin.

“Son, did you hear what your mother asked?”

Again, the only noise that greeted the pair was the soft rumblings of the tires on the smooth road. A sharp, hissing breath, but no words. She turned back to face the front where the car slowly began to ascend upon the jutting, black silhouette of the cathedral in the distance, Large fences constructed of sharp lances that stood higher than most trees to the gray heavens began to stretch down on both sides of the road.

Gothic constructs on the high hills awaited like sleeping giants with forests of green and blue washing below the land like the sea. An impressive prison.

Her eyes, struggling to not break immediately with tears, riveted to the rear mirror, to where he sat perched against the door, head turned away in spite.

“You realize,” she started heavily, “once you step outside of this car, you won’t see or hear from us for another year. No letters. No phone calls. No visits. You’ll be alone here, hundreds of miles from home.”

The car came to a halt. The great gates loomed over in wait; just beyond, the cathedral stood up in the evening fog upon a massive, sloping hill.

Finally, she whirled around, her mascara was dripping slightly down her cheeks. A mother in her most vulnerable and desperate moment.

“Khalid, say something!”

Dark, green eyes met with hers. It hardened at the tears and the half-smiling face of sardonic apathy merely said with a sneer: “See you next year.”

He did not turn to watch the car hesitantly pull away from the gates, his parents staring pleading at his cold, unmoving back. When the sounds of the tires finally died away, and the wind rattled the black iron gates before him, he hung his head and felt the last bits of his heart die away—one last burst of energy before everything dulled and apathy washed over him once again.

He did not even react when a sharp cough interrupted his thoughts. He looked up upon the sight a figure who stood still and dark by the gates, as though it was a statue. But it spoke, even if it didn’t have a face.

“Are you new?” It asked hesitantly; its cap was drawn downwards so its eyes were obscured.

“What does it look like to you? You think _they’re_ coming back, hm?” He said, gesturing to the empty curb.

It hung its head. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Truly. You can head up to the cathedral—the school administration is expecting you. Do you have any bags I can help you with? I don’t mind, really.”

Sympathy. Not pity as he was expecting but a genuine sadness from the faceless gatekeeper. He frowned and chided himself for even thinking so poorly of the man.

“I-thank you. It’s no problem, I can see myself up now. But, I appreciate the offer.”

The gatekeeper nodded rather sadly, if not, understanding.

“Welcome to Garreg Mach. I hope you’ll be able to make yourself at home here.”

Claude bit his tongue until he tasted blood; he smiled like a showman.

“Will do.”

______________________

Claude’s greeters were not so much greeters as they were jailers draped in nun clothes; dreary and ever so judging as one might expect.

At least the green-bearded one was.

He was the first one to speak, not so much as to establish his position as a dominant figurehead—that was the lady bishop next to him. But to make a crass, near exhausted observation when Claude finally stepped inside the cathedral.

The gray-evening light shone on the man’s perpetual arching brow, and he quipped harshly, “Glad of you to _finally_ join us, Mr. Riegan. Even if you are fifteen minutes late.”

Claude stopped, half-smiling at the two to restrain the growing snicker buried in his throat.

“Sorry friend, but have you seen that hill? That climb alone nearly killed me.”

Wrong thing to say. That green man frowned so deeply, small shadows imprinted all over his face. The lady bishop, on the other hand, had yet to move. She stood still, watching the young man with eyes so brightly green, they shimmered like emeralds in the soft light.

“I’m not your friend, Mr. Riegan. You’re not here to make friends. And believe me, with such a tongue, you won’t find much friendship here,” the green man snapped, eyes lowering to thin slits.

“Seteth, that is enough,” the lady bishop said with a single raised hand; her voice carried on gently like a melody, drifting throughout the empty cathedral like a bell chime. But it was enough to silence her companion and he stepped back with his head lowered.

_The head warden_ , Claude thought to himself as she stepped—floated over and bent down and slightly in a graceful bow. Not once did the serene, placid look of utter grace leave her face; she even smiled with a touch of heaven.

“We have been expecting you in great patience, my child. I hope your journey to Garreg Mach was not too troublesome.”

“You guys don’t even have some kind of a golf cart for that massive hill? I feel bad for anyone who brought along at least three suitcases,” Claude asked, jabbing his thumb behind him back to the steep 1,000 steps to the cathedral. “I can’t imagine your gatekeeper having to make several trips.”

The lady bishop made a soft sound—a humming chuckle so musical, it sounded like a lullaby and Claude immediately tensed up.

“I apologize for the climb but the cathedral was here first before the school. We all have to make do in one way or another.” She smiled. “At least you are here, safe and sound, dear child.”

“Here who stands before you is our headmaster of Garreg Mach, Lady Rhea. Her guidance alone is what kept this institution running for years,” Seteth explained solemnly.

Claude smirked. “And you are the scary nun with the big ruler, right?”

Seteth’s tight, thin lips curled up slightly—almost a smile. Almost.

“Just about. I’m the dean. And you, my smart little mouth, are our newest addition to the school. Thus you should do well and behave as a student.”

“Ah yes, the fix-it-up school for troubled trust fund kids. I’m quite glad to be here, your holiness.”

“This is a place of healing and improvement, child,” Lady Rhea corrected gently and clasped her hands together. “We work to help and rehabilitate the poor souls who come here—“

“Admitted.”

She smiled. “ _come_ here and aid them in making peace with themselves in a healthy and open environment.”

“And it looks like you’re in much need of help, Mr. Riegan…,” Seteth remarked ruefully, face contorted in deep concentration as he examined an open file before him.

Claude’s fingers twitched at his side but he made no move; he could only watch as Seteth whistled and shook his head.

“This is bad. This is really bad. You’ve been causing a lot of havoc, haven’t you? No wonder your parents and your grandfather begged us to take you in.”

His smile was waning but the mask won’t fall. Claude has seen this technique before. He knew it too well, in fact. Seteth wanted a reaction. But all he got was a bemused head tilt and a sardonic grin.

The dean continued; he flipped through the file, eyes widening upon each new discovery until he got to the very end. Just a moment, he stood in silence, mouth slightly agape as he leaned over to show Rhea the notes. She covered her mouth.

“This is...quite an impressive resume, Mr. Riegan. Truly and absolutely extensive. I don’t think I have seen anything as horrific as Dim—never mind,” he muttered with a frown, “I can see now that we have much work ahead of us.”

“Indeed, but know this, dear child,” Lady Rhea started; a subtle sadness touched her eyes and her strength seemingly wavered. “Everyone here at Garreg Mach has come from a place of darkness. We all go through periods of suffering, of grief, of dread. But as long as we are here together and help one another heal, there can be peace once more. But the only way that can happen if you _allow_ us to help you. Do you understand me, Claude?”

_Help. Darkness. Havoc._

The headmaster smiled like a doll; the dean frowned plainly; all eyes on him. At that moment, a silent, lurching violence throbbed at the back of Claude’s dull heart; a feeling he knew once before—blame. Accusation. Fault.

But at least one of them was honest about it. He could never trust other actors.

So Claude sighed, no longer smiling and dipped his head down until he could no longer see the green of their eyes—a show-ending bow for the audience.

“I’ll try my best, Lady Rhea,” he recited.

Someone clapped. _Was it Rhea_?

“Well then, Mr. Riegan. I’d say you earned yourself a fair night’s rest. I’m sure your housemates would love to meet you.”

“Housemates?”

Seteth arched a brow. “We assign all the students into one of three houses depending on which area they’re from. You’re from Eastern Fódlan, aren’t you?”

_Far_ East.

Claude nodded slowly.

“Well then, you will be with the Golden Deer house. They are quite…,” Seteth coughed into his fist, “a colorful collection of students.”

_Just say crazy_ , Claude sighed to himself; all jargon was universal, no matter where he went.

______________________

The three houses had their own dormitories, separated by a good distance of walking and low hills. But the only thing Claude was able to register was how terribly far the Golden Deer dormitory was. 

And even then, he never got to meet his housemates. When Seteth let him inside his room, the young man collapsed on the bed and passed out.

When Claude finally awoke to the morning sun, he wiped his eyes dry and peered around; a room he had never seen before, decorated in yellow banners, oak furniture, and the soft sprinkling of dust dancing in the sunlight.

There were muffled voices echoing below, the smell of pancakes, and someone laughing like a fool.

Claude closed his eyes and realized that this wasn’t some nightmare.

______________________

“Hey, new blood. How was your first night?”

The first greeting of the day came from the smiling lips of a pink-haired, starry-eyed girl. She sat perched in the common room kitchen, long legs draped over one another, dangling from the table. She had a phone in one manicured hand and her chin resting on the other.

So far, it seemed like she was the only one occupying the space. But the messy plates, covered in syrup and blueberries spread around the table suggested otherwise.

Claude did not say anything right away. He yawned exaggeratedly with one eye opened to his housemate. She was a pretty little thing, with soft lips and sleepy eyes. But the smirk on her face and the long way she watched him. Claude sensed something much sharper behind the girl’s lazy expression.

He gave a half-laugh and rubbed the back of his neck as he came up to the kitchen.

“Like absolute shit,” Claude said and leaned on the table.

The girl snorted. “Yeah, you’ll get that here. Not because of the beds, mind you. If I wanted to sleep in the woods, I’d put on some forest ASMR. At home.”

It was Claude’s turn to snort and he gave a genuine snicker as the girl gently brought up her hand up.

“Hilda. Hilda Valentin Goneril.”

Claude took her hand and veiled his surprise with a sharp, taunt grin.

“Ah, so you’re the precious daughter of the Goneril clan.”

“And the little sister of General Holst so you better watch yourself around me,” Hilda warned playfully with a wink and a wag of her finger.

The Goneril family were as military and powerful as they come, being the main border control between Fódlan and Almyra. Claude recalled watching all the press releases where General Holst aka _The Wall of Fódlan_ , boomed over a sea of journalists over immigration policies and international affairs.

To think that his little sister would be at a boarding school for troubled children.

“I know what you’re thinking how did someone as pretty as I ended up in this dump,” Hilda said, going back to her phone. There was a blue flower charm dangling from the case. “As I said: I’m pretty. Too pretty. Think about it.”

Claude smiled. “Scratched someone’s eyes out, huh?”

“Wow, aren’t you smart. Okay, new blood, what about you? And start with names or else I’ll never remember you.”

“Claude von Riegan. And I don’t kiss and tell, little lady.”

“Riegan? Like the big tech company?” She asked, indicating to her phone where the logo shined in the light. “You’re a big deal around here.”

“Not as much as anyone else here. Just another gold piece in the dragon’s den.”

“Yup, just a bunch of scratched up, dented coins in a shitty den.” Hilda flashed a white, lopsided smile. “But hey, at least you’re in the best house on campus.”

“Really?”

“No. But we’re super fun. You’ll never get bored with us around—ever. And we don’t have a stick up our asses like Black Eagles or need constant group therapy like Blue Lions. We’re a stable lot.”

“And let me guess: you’re the boss lady around here.”

Hilda snorted obnoxiously and rolled her eyes.

“Fuck no. I can never be house president. All that work would ruin my beauty regiment. No, the Golden Deer house doesn’t have a president yet. But Lorenz is gunning for it.”

“Who?”

A door swung open somewhere behind them; an array of voices invaded the quiet space of the common room.

Hilda perked up, fingers tapping on the table. “Ah, here they are our crazy, little family.”

______________________

Hilda was not exaggerating about the rest of the Golden Deer house. All strange and colorful characters in their own right—different protagonists of separate stories all in one room. That or members of the mighty power rangers.

The big man with bear muscles and a sunny, blinding smile greeted Claude with an agonizingly crushing hug: Raphael Kirsten.

Behind him was a bespectacled quiet man clutching onto a few books; methodical and exerted a certain calmness that made him approachable: Ignatz Victor.

A young woman with a messy blue bun stood far off from the crowd. But Claude had felt her presence first. It was oppressive and deeply morose as her dark eyes watched the floor in front of her: Marianne von Edmund.

A tall, boisterous red-head nearly tore Claude’s arm off with a monstrous shake, bright eyes shimmering wildly as she laughed like a sailor: Leonie Pinelli.

Claude almost missed this one—she was so short that his eyes leered over her head to Raphael. By the time he did see her, the little girl’s cheeks blew up in a vicious pout and her glare deepened to murderous spite. This one is called Lysithea von Ordelia.

And then there was Mr. Bowlcut. A thin straw man with a pale face of complete self-satisfaction and egotism and a questionable hairstyle. His superiority was thinly veiled as his eyes wandered over Claude— _who brought the help in?_ He could almost hear, echoing from this person’s mind.

Lorenz Hellman Gloucester.

Claude recognized the name. Not this person per say, but Gloucester was an unforgettable title. The rival technology company to his grandfather’s empire. Known for making flat-screen televisions, cameras, and exceptionally shitty phones as a response to the common Riegan model. Also a wicked player on the stock market.

Not that Claude cared about his family’s company very much, but the thin ever creasing frown stretching on Lorenz’s face said enough.

“Riegan.” His long nose twitched as though he smelled something terrible.

_It’s probably him_.

“Don’t wear it out, bowl cut,” Claude remarked gently.

“It’s Lorenz Hellman Gloucester. You would do well to remember that name.”

“Making enemies already?” Leonie sighed and shook her head. “Don’t mind him, Claude. You’ll find that the rest of the Golden Deer house are more than hospitable.”

“It’s seriously amazing to have a new face around here!” Raphael said, his voice booming to a near thundering shout.

Ignatz touched Raphael’s arm and smiled nervously to Claude. “We didn’t know that we were going to get any new members. Of course, now, with you here, we’re at a full roster.”

“A full house,” Claude thought loudly and drew his arms over his head. Somehow, his gaze riveted down to Lysithea.

Not once did the girl remove her brutal, piercing glare. Her cheeks were pink all around and her mouth was twisted sharply down.

“Well, aren’t you cute,” he said with a light-hearted laugh. He reached down to pat her head but found it quickly slapped away. He stepped back, blinking from the confusion, and paled at how close she got to him.

Lysithea practically grew four feet just to loom over the young man, eyes drawn in fire and heat.

“I’m not a child. And I would prefer not to be treated as such.”

Claude held his hands up in defeat and feigned a look of fright. This seemed to pacify the dragon and she slithered back down with a watchful glare.

_Temper, temper._

“Well then, this is certainly a wonderful welcome,” he said to the group.

“We’re known for our nice welcomes. At least better than the other two houses,” Hilda said with a shrug.

“Did you arrive today, Claude?” Marianne asked but her voice was so small and frail that he had to lean over to catch her words.

“Today? No, I actually came last night. My folks just dumped me at the gates and I had to climb up death mountain.”

“Oh geez, did you have to deal with Seteth?” Leonie groaned, touching her forehead.

“Angry green nun? Oh yeah, he gave me quite a welcome.”

“No one is _welcomed_ here,” Lorenz corrected. He was tall, taller than Claude, and he made it very known as he threw his head up and inspected his new housemate coldly. “We did not choose to come here. Garreg Mach is here as a place to rehabilitate ourselves—to better ourselves for society. And we don’t need any jokers here to hold us down.”

Claude bit the inside of his mouth to restrain himself from laughing. He felt it the minute Lorenz locked eyes with him, an all-too-familiar look that often kept him irritable for the nights; Lorenz felt threatened. Was it because of Claude’s grandfather? Was this over Gloucester’s crapshoot laptops? No, this sting was something much deeper.

He almost tempted himself in telling Lorenz that he should be scared. That in a school that took pride in putting together broken children, they would find themselves terrorized and subdued. Instead, Claude sucked his teeth and grinned sharply at his unfriendly housemate.

“Well, well, aren’t you friendly? Tell me, friend, how is it that the son of the Gloucester corporation ended up in a boarding school for bad children? What did you do, pretty boy—money laundering? Tax fraud?”

Lorenz’s face paled and he stepped back, clasping his heart. “How dare you! As if it’s any of your business, Riegan. You’ll find that students here won’t be so open in spilling their secrets so readily,” he rebuked harshly.

_How troublesome._

“We have no time for idle chatter,” Lysithea said sharply. “We have morning group therapy with Seteth in a few minutes. Unless you plan on earning your first demerit, I’d suggest you keep your mouth shut and follow us.”

She lowered her head, somewhat sympathetic, though the command was still there. “It can be very hard to adjust here unless you know what you’re doing.”

“Oh, thank you.”

“Go get changed—we’ll try and wait for you. Not too long though. I hate tardiness,” she finally warned as the entire group dispersed back to their rooms in a loud clatter.

Only Lorenz slowed down to throw Claude one last haughty look, his brow furrowed with tension.

“Get used to taking orders, Riegan. Because you’ll have to answer to me soon,” he barked and strolled away with his back straight.

Once the room emptied, Hilda slapped his back playfully and winked. ‘Welcome to the club, Claude. Come find me if you want _the tea_ ,” she said before heading upstairs with the others.

Here he was. Day two of this prison, in a house of pawns, each with their own name and personality. But a different coat of paint hardly changes the value. His housemates, members of the Golden Deer, and the people he’s stuck with the next year.

Hilda, the pretty little sister of a military man; she looked and smiled like a doll, but she spoke plainly without much disregard, at least, if met with plain speech back. Claude had no doubt she had her fair share of secrets and kept them safely away in a box somewhere.

Talented little actress and one after his own heart.

Raphael, Ignatz, and Leonie were honest in their appearances. They did not seem to be the type to deceive and were properly earnest. Raphael was boisterous, Ignatz was patient, and Leonie had a strong heart.

Then there was the small silver maiden with a mouth of fire. Sharp-tongued, blunt, and easy to provoke—if he continued to point out her apparent smallness. She was a child, but an honest one, and fiercely intelligent too from the looks of her diligence. Claude would have to watch himself around her.

The quiet doll of blue hair, dark eyes, and a small voice. She never looked at him in the eyes when she spoke. The ground around his feet was a better sight.

Claude frowned to himself; while most people hid and danced around their pain, hers was clear and out in the open for the world to see. It dictated her very being. And he could not help but feel a tinge of pity, even just a little bit.

Finally, there was Lorenz.

He chuckled out loud.

There was no reason to worry about the trust fund kind with terrible bangs. But to have him as house president of the Golden Deer house, that could be a problem.

Claude just needed to last for a year. A year and then he’ll know freedom once more. The gears in his head began to move like magic, and everything clicked in harmony.

First is information. There were two other houses on campus and Hilda’s earlier words implied some internal strife, which could be beneficial for Claude. So many students, so many secrets just waiting for its liberator. He’ll have to take Hilda up on her tea offer soon.

Second is the house president position. Hilda made it sound like a hassle. But it’s more of a hassle to answer to the beck and call of the Gloucester heir. He already hated Claude—imagine life under his foot.

No, that simply won’t do.

Claude needed to find a way to secure the house for himself. Things run much more smoothly if the captain was at the helm anyway.

And third, the school. The warden queen and her green-haired guard dog wanted to make him help him, they claimed. But Claude had long sensed it in Lady Rhea: submission or nothing. He had seen this dance before and he’s not planning on being the one lead.

As long as he is stuck at this school—this prison, where problem children are dumped off to be fixed, Claude planned on making life as comfortable as he can for himself. But that's near impossible with overly religious wardens, crazy housemates, and a school with enough mental issues to make a case study.

But that will hardly matter once he becomes the king, even if it means sticking a few metaphorical knives in some unsuspecting backsides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo, thanks for enjoying the first chapter! I plan on updating quite frequently (maybe weekly?) so watch out for that. 
> 
> So as you can see, this is a much darker interpretation of Claude and my thoughts are to depict a less stable more manipulative version of him in this story. He's basically capable of everything and hates authority. This is going to be one hell of a ride. 
> 
> Enjoy kids.
> 
> Follow my sad butt on Twitter for updates at  
> https://mobile.twitter.com/Meatbike344


	2. The Songbird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude gets adjusted to the school; bonds with Hilda over gossip; finds his songbird of happiness

_**Lessons in Ancient Almyran Politics** _

_\- Knowing One’s Neighbors -_

_While all men pledge loyalty and servitude under the one true King of the Almyran Sun, it should be known that all who kneel conceal knives behind their backs. Ally and Enemy wear the same mask—nearly indistinguishable. How does one tell between Wolf and Sheep?_

_Information is essential. Every good noble should take time and study their neighbors. Know their beliefs, their affiliations, their past. The silver-tongued gentlemen might have a history of switching lords like midday attire and likewise, the blunt savant has only ever called upon one master._

_Espionage is important. Practice diligence and study well those who share borders and beyond. Talk to those in court—get a sense of their person both in the eyes of the king and behind his back._

_True faces show themselves in the dark, and that is when one can tell between friend and foe._

The week started like this:

Every Monday, the houses had to attend group therapy with Seteth; the Golden Deers had the morning session, the Black Eagles were in the afternoon, and the Blue Lions went in the evening.

No one crossed paths.

Group therapy with Seteth proved to be the best start of the morning for Claude; mother always said that humor was good for the soul.

Seteth started out discussing to everyone about their goals for the day—their anxieties, their feelings, what they are looking forward to. Lysithea, Ignatz, and Raphael responded very honestly as such was their nature. The young silver-haired girl wanted to get her group project done in time, the bespectacled lad seemed content on getting some reading done, and the big man simply wanted to last until free period, where he wanted to gouge on dining hall meals.

Simple goals. Honest goals.

Seteth nodded at their words and surprised Claude immensely by smiling at each speaker, enamored by the responses. It seemed like any sign of progress or want, delighted him, even as small as Raphael’s happy meal hour.

Leonie admitted that she did not have any strong feelings or aspirations for this week. Though, the red-head was somewhat upset by her lack of inspiration. She needed a drive.

“That’s alright,” Seteth said with a nod. “Not everyone needs to plan out their entire life. Sometimes it’s good to just relax and enjoy the moment.”

Lorenz, not surprisingly, had a time limit to his words. Apparently, he liked to go on and on, and Claude nearly slumped over in his chair from drowsiness after ten minutes of some winding speech.

_What were his aspirations again? To be an absolute stick?_

When it came to Marianne, the blue-haired maiden shook her head and mumbled a word so quiet, it sounded like a low wind passing through the trees. Finally, she stared down at her shoes while Seteth reassured her that she could take her time. He was gentle with her—everyone was.

Then Hilda. Seteth sighed rather loudly as if he were undertaking some heavy lifting and looked to the pink-haired beauty. She was twirling a piece of her hair between her long fingers and had her phone out as she proudly chewed on gum. Sharp nails tapping rapidly on the screen to block out Seteth’s heated gaze.

The dean cleared his throat.

She did not look up.

“Hilda.”

“Who, me?”

“Yes, you. Are you willing to share what you like to expect from this week? Maybe something you fear? Something you are excited for?”

Hilda blew out a loud obnoxious bubble and grinned white teeth.

“Uh, does wanting this session to be over count?”

Claude caught her bemused side-eye and the two exchanged an out-of-sight finger wave as Seteth viciously wrote something down in his notebook.

Finally, the green eyes of discontent landed on him, hardened, with his lips straightened into a neutral frown. The gentle patience and earnestness from earlier was all but gone, replaced with clear suspicious and distaste.

Perhaps Claude’s entrance proved too much for the man.

“Mr. Riegan,” he stated coldly as though he were speaking to a business associate. “Our new _friend_ , what of you? What are your goals for this week?”

Claude smiled; he was not mad, not even irritated at best.

Seteth, despite all that dreary uptightness that comes with being faithful to the great goddess above, he truly cared for the students—even Claude under all that cynicism. He did not wear any masks nor shielded his feelings behind pretty words. At this moment, he had very little reason to trust the outsider—righteously so.

Oh, it’s time to prove the nun wrong _._

“I was hoping to get adjusted to the school. Learn my schedule, bond with my housemates,” Claude said but squinted his eyes at Lorenz who scowled, “maybe I’ll meet the other two houses—get to know them more.”

Seteth blinked. Was he not expecting absolute and complete honestly from these sessions? He tapped his pencil against his nose and nodded very slowly.

“That’s...very good, Claude. It’s always important to ground yourself in a new place—establish where you are first before anything else.”

“Exactly, sister.”

“Don’t push your luck now,” Seteth said, but a bit of warmth to it that was never there before. He was struggling not to smile. “Well, I’m glad our new student is filling in nicely here. I have no doubt you all will make Claude’s stay here very welcoming.”

Lorenz scoffed, loud enough for Claude to hear from across the room. But Claude simply rolled his eyes with Hilda and drowned out the rest of the session as Seteth introduced some bonding exercises.

From Tuesday to Friday, it was completely dedicated to classes.

As Claude found out, the house attended to these academics as a whole, rarely crossing over with the other two houses. No doubt, this was meant to further bond the members together into a community. But Claude felt his patience slipping away with every damn word that left Lorenz’s mouth. Though he enjoyed Hilda’s under-the-breath remarks.

She was surprisingly intelligent.

All of the instructors were, more or less, disciplinarians or cartoon characters than actual teachers.

Catherine and Shamir were joint P.E teachers but the two seemed more content in splitting the house up into two groups and pinning them against each other for some drinking bet between the women than any actual want for constructive sports.

Hanneman was an old fellow; a strange, rather bumbling sort of man who taught history. He often delved into rants for so long that he hardly noticed that his students had already dismissed themselves upon the bell.

Alois lead the literature class but seemed more occupied with making terrible puns every five minutes and then laughing to himself into a fit. Claude did like him though. Alois was simply a funny, little man who genuinely wanted to brighten his students’ day. Even if his class was insufferable.

Manuela was the school’s doctor, but she was mostly the cause for half of the male population to fall over ill; her close proximity to any student was met with a glowing redness at the cheeks. Even sweet Marianne blushed.

She also taught music and art, which Claude proved terrible at when he tried playing the kazoo in the middle of the orchestra. Only Hilda (and Raphael with his head turned away) laughed.

Jeralt— _Captain Jeralt_ , as Leonie had squealed out in delight, was the school’s military instructor. The nasty drill sergeant who barked insults into Claude’s ear when the young man slipped down the muddy obstacle course and knocked over Lorenz to his face. Everyone thought the incident was funny, all except one. The sergeant’s breath also smelled faintly of beer but he always drank from a diet soda. Naturally, this class was Leonie’s favorite. She outran everyone at least three laps ahead, dominated the obstacle course, and hardly broke a sweat.

Surprisingly, Jeralt was the only one who got Hilda to work. The Goneril daughter was very good at one-handed push-ups while texting. Somehow, she managed to outlast Raphael.

The last class of the day was taught by Jeralt’s own son. And unlike the drillmaster, the child was not inflicted by an acute sense of drunken emotions.

In fact, this one had no emotions, to begin with.

“Welcome to religion class. I’m here to teach you all about religion,” Byleth said as though he was reading off of a teleprompter.

Claude raised his hand lazily in the air, a look of amusement dead centered on his face.

“Yes?”

“So teach, which religion are we talking about exactly?”

“The only religion.”

“Which...is?”

Byleth, without missing a beat, picked up a book off his podium and squinted at the title.

 _Are you serious?_ Claude swallowed down his laughter and gave a half-twitching smile as his young teacher looked up.

“The Goddess of Fódlan.”

“What if we worship another god?” He continued. He was not religious nor did he come from a pious household. In fact, he liked to stay away from the ideas of god all together—to overlook the achievements of man and favor the graces of invisible figures never sat right with him. Even now, he did not like the idea of a mandatory faith class.

Byleth shrugged. “I guess you’ll have to die then.”

The entire class held their breath. Even Hilda looked up from her phone with wide eyes.

After a moment, the young teacher blinked and said, “It was a joke.”

It was there that religion became Claude's favorite class of the day.

______________________

When the week ended and Sunday rolled around, Lady Rhea had personal counseling appointments for each and every student for an hour.

“Confessional” as Hilda warned back the dormitory.

As Claude found out—an exceptionally disliked fact to him—that the general rule of Garreg Mach was to never share the reason for admission. No one ever talked about why they got into the school, nor did they go around asking others. It was a delicate line between privacy and respect. 

Apparently, the mere fact that Claude broke such a rule on day one to Lorenz was enough to make him an enemy in the Gloucester heir’s eyes.

But that was the reason for Lady Rhea’s counseling: only she knew of all the student’s histories and worked personally with them every Sunday to remedy it.

Claude trudged through the dark, empty cathedral once his session time came. On the way, he briefly touched shoulders with a girl he had never seen before.

Her sharp heels clicked against the marble, like knives chipping away at thick ice. She walked with a certain strength that nearly made Claude step back and wait for her to pass—almost. When they collided a bit, her long, brown hair flown into his face. He would not have even cared had it not been for the way her piercing purple eyes closely traced over his like a nasty stain on a dress that would never go away, no matter how hard she scrubs.

“Watch your step,” the girl commanded harshly.

Claude stopped at her words and whirled around to say something, but she was gone.

______________________

“Do you know why you are here?”

“To talk about my problems for an hour?”

“If that is what you wish, dear child,” Lady Rhea said with a head tilt. “But I was referring to if you know why your parents brought you here, to Garreg Mach.

Claude watched her, the beautiful smile of serene holiness smiling back at him. Despite this, he felt no such warmth from them, merely an act to fool him into speaking. Nothing from this woman felt real, and it truly scared him.

She was waiting. Expecting.

“Because,” he said very slowly to test the dark waters ahead of him. “They wanted me gone.”

“Why exactly would they want to be rid of you, child?” Lady Rhea opened her eyes; emeralds shimmering in the darkness—a dragon in a den. “What reason do they have to leave you here?”

There it was.

Hilda, sweet slothful Hilda, had a sharp mind. She warned him of this being confessional. And Lady Rhea needed to hear the sins right from the mouth of the sinner. But how can she forgive the sinner if he didn’t feel any bit of remorse?

Did she know about it? Of course, she did—both her and Seteth had his file. But why did she needed him to say it? What was the point?

_Submission._

An admission of guilt, of wrongdoings, was to completely submit to her domain. She needed him to openly voice his sins, to accept the fact that he was broken—damaged goods.

“I’m here to help you, Claude,” Lady Rhea said as though she had read his thoughts. “But I can’t help you unless you can tell me exactly why you are here.”

Claude smiled dangerously and felt bottomless.

“And if I believe I did absolutely nothing wrong?”

Rhea smiled back with her teeth showing.

“We’ll try again next Sunday.”

______________________

“I told you, it’s just confessional! No matter how many fancy words Miss Rhea tries to slap on it. The minute you walk inside that cathedral, you are the one at fault,” Hilda said with a wave of her hand.

It was free period, one of the few times where all three houses were free from classes or therapy. Students were allowed complete range of the school grounds and facilities. Some went back to their dorms to sleep. Some went to grab food from the dining hall. Others played sports on the open field like football and archery.

And then there was Hilda who found it more content to sit under the cool shade of a tree and talk shit.

Claude found himself really attached to the pink-haired beauty. She was fun. And it also helped that she was practically Garreg Mach’s information broker. The girl had intel on just about every person, even if it is twisted under many layers of gossip and derision.

“You know, I’m actually super happy you joined our house. Nothing against the others, but they’re all too…,” Hilda started, wrinkling her small button nose like a rabbit, “honest. Even Lorenz. It’s hard to have an exciting chat with them. Maybe except for Marianne.”

Claude gasped dramatically and clutched his heart. “And I’m not honest? Me?” he cried out in feigned pain.

“You’re so funny—I saw your eyes on day one. The way you slink towards me and smiled. A snake wearing antlers if I ever seen one.”

“Yup, and this one is just sitting here, talking to another fellow reptile with perfect mascara.”

Hilda battered her long and flowing eyelashes; her pink, shiny lips curling up in a kissing pout.

“Aren’t we just a pair of jokers?”

“One of a kind,” Claude agreed with a chuckle.

Nearby, from where the two sat, a pair of boys from another house were chatting on the lawn. A short boy with cropped blue hair was cackling wildly, slapping his knee to some off sided joke, as his drowsy companion nodded nonchalantly.

Claude watched them for a while before turning to Hilda, his mouth curled up into a cat-like grin. He slid over and clicked his tongue.

“Soooo Hilda.”

“Soooo Claude.’

“Come on now, little lady. What’s the tea?”

She stopped texting and lifted her head. The way her eyes lit up and shined, it was as if Seteth told her that she never had to work again. No finger lifted for poor Hilda.

“Ohh, you want the fucking tea? I’ll give you the fucking tea.”

“About anything?”

“Fuck yeah—I got shit on just about every single damn person in this school. Even our local dean.” Hilda lifted her head and she smirked. “But my tea isn’t free, you know. But...for you, the first one is on the house.”

“Stop making me fall in love with you, Hilda. Seriously,” Claude growled darkly, earning him a short giggle from his pink-haired companion.

“So, what does my Claude want to know?” She asked excitedly, leaning close with her breath bated. “You want some gossip on who _not_ to talk to? Because believe me, my black list keeps growing every day.”

Claude did not have to think.  
“There is this girl—”

“Already? Wow, you work faster than Sylvain.”

“Shush, not like that. I ran into a girl on my way to ‘confessional’. Bumped into her more like it. But I was wondering what house she might be in.”

“Hmmm,” Hilda touched her lips. “Describe her.”

He sat back a bit until his bare neck brushed up against the roughness of the tree trunk. He sighed, closed his eyes, and tried to recollect the encounter from earlier. It’s hard to forget a girl like that, but not the most positive sense for Claude.

“Let’s see here. She was wearing these really sharp heels. And had long brown hair and really scary purple eyes—”

“Edelgard von Hresvelg.”

Hilda’s voice dropped to a low hiss and her nails left long, shallow marks on the bark of the tree. The girl’s usual bright eyes narrowed to thin slits, a sight that did not seem so fitting of her. But it was terrifying none the less, and the heat ebbing off her gaze forced Claude to scoot away a bit.

No scorn is greater than that of beautiful women with long nails. He knew this face of fury very well.

“Who’s she?”

“You haven’t heard of her? Wow, Claude, you really must have lived under a rock your entire life.”

He only smirked, trying to hide the subtle panic in his eyes. Damn him for not reading up on this damn country beforehand.

Hilda continued. “Edelgard was the daughter of Fódlan’s late president. She’s also the house president of the Black Eagles.” Her eyelids drooped. “And a complete bitch.”

“That’s rather harsh coming from you.”

“You met her. How did she make you feel?”

Claude frowned. “It was only a brief passing but...I guess she looks super serious.”

Hilda nodded earnestly. “Let me tell you all about the madam president and her eagles. Edelgard is basically the princess of this school. That woman’s authority is absolute! What she says, goes, and the stupid administration just eats it up. There’s no arguing with that woman.”

“I bet her house is just as scary, huh. Even their name sounds a bit edgy.”

“No, no,” Hilda muttered rather sympathetically. “They’re all so sweet. See, that house hails from Southern Fódlan so it’s mostly kids of rich politicians. But they’re good people. Really.”

Claude bent forward, strong arms resting on his knees as he stared straight at Hilda. Why did she seem so conflicted at the moment? How much power did Edelgard have to influence the school this much? So far, it only seemed like any form of leadership solely existed in the houses alone, with Seteth and Rhea primarily being the source of absolute power. And yet, the strained tone of Hilda’s voice implied a strangling dictatorship that long been in place. Then again, there was a certain air to Edelgard when he passed her: she had no time for him and he, somehow, inconvenienced her. Showed a weakness too distasteful to forgive. A figure of all strength and no softness.

“Tough boss lady,” he murmured. “How exactly did the daughter of Fódlan’s President—”

“Late. He’s dead.”

“Late President end up here?”

Hilda shrugged. “Who knows—no one ever talks about why they were dumped here. But…,” she leaned in close to his ear, “rumor has it that she murdered her uncle in cold blood. Probably because he disagreed with her.”

“You can’t have wealth and power without a little murder. It’s in season, after all,” Claude quipped with a wink; at the back of his mind, a memory throbbed painfully.

_Murderer, murderer._

He smiled a bit to forget.

“Oh yes, homicide is extremely sexy, I’d dig it, especially considering how half of the student body is nothing more than demented psychos,” Hilda said, looking straight at Claude with an unwavering gaze.“But I’m not joking about what I said earlier. Don’t cross her and you’ll be fine. And don’t let madam president hear you—she can have you sent to solitary confinement.”

“I find it hard to believe that she has this much authority over the school.”

She sighed. “It’s because we haven’t gotten our house president yet. See, all the presidents on campus meet up every week to discuss affairs and shit. But without the Golden Deer House President, Edelgard basically dominates every conversation—it’s a check and balance system, essentially.”

The girl’s gaze dropped down the grass; she plucked it and twirled it between her fingers rather longingly, a thought drifting around in her head. “I guess it doesn’t help that the Blue Lions House President is her own brother—he’s too soft with her.”

Claude’s brow arched up curiously. “She has a brother? Man, their family dynasty must be shit. Must be pretty easy to get your way if you have family in other positions of power.”

“Tell me about it.”

“So the Blue Lions—”

“Uh huh,” Hilda suddenly interrupted, bringing her long white finger with that perfectly pink nail up to Claude’s mouth. She smirked deviously, tongue running alongside her full lips—hunger deep in her expression.

He froze like prey in the eye of a beast.

“My little inquisitive stag, you’re getting too ahead of yourself. I told you before, the first one is free. You’ll have to pay if you want to know more from now on.”

“Oh my Hilda,” Claude started sardonically and gently took her hand away. “What else can I give you that you already don’t have? Money? More make-up? A new phone?”

His words struck a strange cord in the girl. Her amused smile only grew upon each suggestion, knowing such things were unnecessary and beneath her. Finally, she said:

“I’m bored, Claude. Entertain me. Then I’ll speak.”

He knew—understood, from the first day of Hilda’s sleeping sharp mind. Hardly anything passed her field of vision with the lax attitude merely a mask for the observer. Claude would not be able to pull a fast one her—it was bargaining or nothing at all.

He sighed deeply and stood up sketching his arms.

“Alright, Hilda. Wanna see something cool?”

______________________

In another time, in another place far from Fódlan, a memory too far remote to reminisce but too important to forget, young hands touched a bow.

Taunt strings to be plucked and strung.

A tradition too sacred to ignore.

Fathers leaned over and showed their sons the birthright of Almyra.

 _Shoot down the sun_ , they ushered.

A furry of arrows rocketed to the eastern light and over the horizon.

Even now, the spirit of the sun never left him; Claude pulled the strings back, took a breath, and released. The arrow soared over the fields and faded away into the sky like a morning star.

He watched it fly before turning back to the bored face of Hilda. She scoffed and waved her hand off dismissively.

“So? I know at least three people at this school who can do the exact same thing including Ignatz.”

_Ignatz took archery?_

“Well, what do you suggest?”

“I don’t know. Maybe make it more challenging?”

Claude took out the yellow tie from his uniform and stretched it out with a tight snap. He smiled sharply at how it gleamed in the sun.

“What if I shoot blindfolded?”

“Hmm, maybe,” Hilda said, twirling her hair in pique interest. “But what would your target even be?”

Claude scanned the sports field; it was not as wide open as he had hoped. Buildings and paths littered the area with the forest in the back.

Then he saw it.

“See that apple tree over there?” he asked, pointing to the single fruit tree far off across the field. “I’ll shoot down the very apple on the top down.”

“No fucking way! That’s too hard! But if you’re willing to make a fool of yourself, I would mind having some material for future karma,” Hilda snickered and pulled her phone up to record.

Claude rolled his eyes and stared out to the tree. The highest apple was on the very top shined in the sun, almost mockingly, tempting the young man’s arrogance even further. He had done this before; his father used to hang targets from places far off for practice—places even further than the tree. And he out bested them all. _Outlived_ them all.

Once the image of the apple stained his mind, Claude wrapped the tie around his eyes. He took a long, deep breath; the Fódlan wind against his back and Hilda the observer watching him very carefully. The training bow suddenly felt heavy in his hands as he lifted it up and pulled.

_Khalid, shoot down the sun._

His fingers let go. The arrow went flying with a hiss. Someone gasped behind him.

“What? Did I hit it?” Claude asked excitedly, tugging his blindfold away, and peered over the fields.

He did not, in fact, hit it. The apple was still upon the trees, shining contently in the light. But right below the tree was his arrow—pinned right into the shoulder of a student who slumped against the trunk. Claude nearly choked on the dry air.

“By the goddess,” Hilda stepped back, pale-faced, with her hands shaking. He never heard such a despairing panic in her voice until now. “You fucking shot Dimitri.”

“Who?!”

But by the time he turned around, the girl had made a mad retreat back to the dormitories, shouting to the air in a smiling voice: “You’re on your own, Riegan!”

_So much for house loyalty._

______________________

There is an ancient Almyran tale his father used to tell him in youth, a story so widely repeated throughout his life but not without reason. Such anvils of morality could only be dropped with the existence of fables, at least in Almyra, and young Khalid proved to have a character so distinctively wild that his father believed it was his duty to correct the beast hiding in his son.

“Khalid, would you like to hear a bedtime story?”

This was Khalid’s first mistake, to assume his father would read him a story meant for children, one of the simple good values. He shyly nodded and saw the wariness in his father’s eyes.

The man pulled out a book from under his arm. It was blue with gold leaves weaving all around the cover, shining in the night light. In the middle was of a bird singing, encased in a golden cage. Khalid could only stare at it, mesmerized by its beauty.

“Like it? I had this edition since my father read it to me,” Khalid’s father said rather proudly, brushing dust off the cover.

“The Songbird?”

“Classic story. Songbirds don’t come around too often now; there used to be dozens in the forest when I was a kid.” He said down on the bed, right next to his son; the sudden weight bringing the child closer to his father. “Would you like to hear it, Khalid?”

The son nodded and the story began like this:

_There once lived a king in a palace far, far away, He was very rich with everything any man could have ever dreamed of: mountains of wealth, a beautiful wife, brave sons, a full-court ready for any command, and a palace to rival the gods._

_And yet, the king was not happy. He did not understand why. He had everything in the world and yet, it did nothing to fill the emptiness in his heart._

_No matter how many things he bought, how many things he built, how many entertainers came for his pleasure, the king was never happy._

_One day, while sitting in his room, the king heard a song. It was, perhaps, the most beautiful sound he had ever heard in his life. A melody so wonderful that it brought joy to his heart._

_When the king looked around for the source of the melody, he found a small little songbird sitting at his window._

_“Oh, my friend, was it you who sang that lovely song?” the king asked._

_“Yes for I felt your sadness and I wanted to cheer you up!” the bird exclaimed._

_“Please, would you sing for me again? Your voice made me ever so happy.”_

_“Then I will sing until the night falls.”_

_And so the little songbird sang for the king until the moon was high above the sky. And in all of his years, the king had never been happier until now—to sit and hear the soft melodies of his beloved friend. His empty heartfelt warm and soft, and never had his riches or wives or even palace had given him this much joy before._

_“I must go,” the songbird announced. “My family awaits.”_

_“Will you return tomorrow?”_

_“For you, of course.”_

_And so, upon each day, the songbird came to the king’s window and sang for him until the night. Each day as precious as the next. Some days, the king would fall asleep to his friend’s lullaby and would wake up to find the creature gone._

_Then one night, the bird sadly said, “My beloved king, my family needs me._ _I do not know when I will return. But rest assured, my dear friend, you shall hear me again so soon.”_

_And the king watched in sadness as the bird flew away to the depths of the nearby forest. Oh, how he wished the beautiful songbird can stay with him forever. Until then, he must wait for the song once again._

_For the next few days, the bird did not return. The king awaited by his window every day for that little songbird. For each day it did not come, he grew irritable. He threw things at his servants, beat his wife and children, and caused havoc in the palace._

_Finally, a familiar song touched his ears and he turned to see the songbird by his window._

_“My friend, where have you been? I have waited three days for your return!” The king exclaimed._

_“I am sorry. I needed to take care of my family. But all is well for I am here to sing for you again.”_

_And the bird sang. It sang until the night and the king watched in great pleasure. There was no moment more precious to him than now, to be with his little songbird. When the song ended, the bird looked to him again in sadness._

_“I am afraid I must leave again for a while. My family will want me near.”_

_The king felt violence in his voice and nearly fell over in despair. “Do not go, my friend! Come and stay here with me! Bring your family and live with me at the palace forever! I will feed you, take care of you—even build you a garden!”_

_The songbird shook his head. “Alas, my family’s home as always been the forest. I cannot leave them. But I promise you I will return.”_

_“But then, you will only leave me again. Won’t you become mine?”_

_“My life is not yours as yours is not mine. But I will come and see you again.”_

_And so the songbird left once again. And the king sat alone in the darkness, watching his friend fly away. A scheme swelling in his mind, to preserve his sanctuary of happiness._

_The next day, the king summoned his guards and gave them an order: “If the songbird returns to my window, you must set off and burn down the forest. Make sure no creature survives.”_

_It was three days when the lovely song of the bird touched the king’s ears again. That same day, soldiers set fire to the trees and watched as it consumed the land._

_The next day, when the songbird returned to the window, it cried a song of sadness and grief._

_“My home, my family, they’re all gone! A fire has destroyed everything.”_

_“Oh, my dear friend. My beloved little bird. You have nowhere else to go. Stay with me and I will take care of you for the rest of your life.”_

_“No, I can no longer stay. This place is filled with nothing but sad memories. I will leave to a place far off and mourn those I have lost. Goodbye, my dear king.”_

_But the songbird did not leave for when the words of farewell left his beak, a golden cage fell upon him. The king brought the cage up to his face. Never before had he felt such a rage until now and he said, “Your family is all but gone and you dare to leave me? I will make sure you will never fly away again. You shall stay here in my room and sing for all eternity. You are mine.”_

_But the songbird did not sing._

_No matter how hard the king begged his friend, he refused._

_Days passed without a lullaby. The creature did not eat. It did not drink. It did not even look to the king anymore. It sat in the golden cage by the window, staring off to the world beyond. And the king could do nothing but feel the torture of his sadness return._

_“My friend, I love you. Won’t you sing for me?” he asked once again but only silence met his plead._

_Finally, on one warm afternoon, the king returned to his chambers and found his beloved songbird slumped in the cage._

_He was dead._

“Well, what do you think?” Khalid’s father asked as he closed the book. Beside him, the young boy stared at the storybook with big eyes, struggling to comprehend what he had just listened to.

“He killed the bird,” Khalid finally said in a whisper.

The father nodded solemnly. “Where do you think the King went wrong, son? What could he have done better?” His questions were edging on desperation; there was no better pride in a father than to guide children through their own thoughts and minds. Allow them to come up with the conclusion on their own without having it to be outright told.

And young Khalid did not have to think much before he spoke his mind.

“The king should have captured the song bird’s family.”

“Pardon?”

“It was foolish of him to kill the bird’s family off so quickly. That should be last option,” Khalid explained without noticing the look of utter shock on his father’s face. He continued, even more earnestly, “if the king wanted to keep the songbird, he should have captured the family as hostages. Then the bird would have sung.”

“Khalid...”

“I know that if I were the king, I would try everything I can to keep my bird. But if all else fails, I would not mind killing the family.”

There were no words. Khalid’s father simply stared at him in absolute despair, as though the boy had accidentally said another swear in front of a distant family member. That night, hissing whispers echoed from his parent’s bedroom and Khalid wondered what they were arguing about.

He never did find out the moral of the story.

______________________

Claude had to admit to himself at some point, on his lack of strong emotions. He never truly felt much the passions in his life, all except anger, resentment, and all those above wrath itself. To say he even felt true love or such things of euphoria were completely alien to the boy. Perhaps he loved his parents, but that love itself was buried under confusion. Confusion on what they looked at him that way, their eyes widened in perpetual shock, lips curled down in discontentment.

Was there something wrong with him? Or was this love? Claude never again questioned such things—strong emotions had no use to him anymore. And he understood very keenly on why his feelings never truly resurfaced against the face of his usual apathy.

There were lucid moments somewhere deep in his memory, where he felt enormous waves of violence—every cutting remark from those back then, against him, and everything he represented. But he never lashed out against them. Somehow, when the thought of violence itself reared its head at the boy, Claude never took it, though not because he was a pacifist.

Instead, he took on the insults, taking time to truly remember the faces of his tormentors for later. For it was his nature to wait, and strong emotions had no place among the patient. He had to suffer it all under a carefully constructed mask—the floodgates that kept all these emotions swelling and pulsing like a sleeping god beneath the earth. And every person should know not to disturb such beings from their slumber.

Claude’s awakening came when he laid eyes upon the person he shot.

At first, it started out very subtly—a numbness that slowly overtook his heart the closer he got to the body. But when his eyes riveted over to the young man’s face, the floodgates of Claude’s heart broke through and five years of repression poured out in the open: anger, resentment, wrath, and love all in one ugly form.

It was too much for Claude to bear at once as his cheeks burned like fire and he clutched his chest in pain.

_What’s happening to me? Why am I feeling this way?_

Even though his absolute panic, he managed to see that the boy’s body was actually _pinned_ to the tree from the shoulder, blood faintly staining the uniform from the wound. But he didn’t care.

Like a moth to a flame, Claude unconsciously drew himself closer to the boy’s face. It appeared that he was knocked out from the force of the arrow—blonde locks like strings of gold and long eyelashes of sunlight. His face was the absolute image of heaven, like ancient marble statues of beauty that faced the sky in worship.

Claude came up so close that he was inches away from the boy’s lips. He gazed all over in a half-manic, memorized state—a fever that he could not shake. He was sleepwalking and stumbled upon God in his dreams. After a long moment of staring at the most perfect set of lips, Claude lifted his hand and reached over to touch his God’s pale cheeks. Then those eyelashes fluttered.

Blue met green.

And Claude fell in love.

“H-Hello?” The boy stuttered weakly, eyes furrowed in a mixture of pain and confusion.

“Hello there, handsome,” Claude whispered breathlessly with an enamored smile. He did not even notice how close their faces were until the other boy tried moving and then groaned like a dying animal. His bating breath touched Claude’s cheeks and everything went white momentarily.

“What happened? Why do I have an arrow sticking out of me?”

“Oh yeah, that’s my fault. I was trying to shoot an apple out of the tree.”

_But I got something even better._

The golden boy seemed to comprehend this with a strained nod, but he tried lifting himself again only to cripple back against the tree trunk—the pain evidently surging across his face from his shoulder.

“I cannot move…,” that wonderful voice muttered out in pain.

“Right, 'cause you’re pinned to the tree, my friend. Here, let me help you,” Claude said rather excitedly as he discarded the training bow down to the ground. Any chance to touch this golden god made him shiver—piling over in the absolute thrill, but he kept his face steady as he got right up to the boy. “I’m going to secure my arms around you and pull. Mind, this is going to hurt so grit your teeth.”

The boy nodded weakly and considerably tensed up when Claude wrapped his hands around those limp arms. The other boy moved very slowly, deliberately, taking in and feeling as much of the body as he can. His face was burning red as his fingers felt the slight imprint of muscle beneath the uniform and he gripped tightly, never wanting to let go. Even while bleeding, his god smelled good like northern pine and peppermint.

“Alright, I’m going to pull on the count of three. Bear with me here, okay?”

Claude counted very softly with his fingers taut against the arms, and on three, he pulled the body off the tree. There was short, nearly strangled noise, something so close to a moan that Claude felt hardened by just the mere sound of it. It only got worse when the boy collapsed on top of his obsessed savior, panting wildly with blood, sweat, and tears intermingling between the bodies. If there was a moment were Claude felt fortunate to be wearing a long jacket over his uniform, it would be now.

“There, there,” he said, patting the boy gently, hands rubbing down the strong back that moved upon every breath. “I’ll walk you to Manuela. She’ll patch you up.”

“O-Okay,” the boy merely said and allowed Claude to support him under his good shoulder.

The two began to move very slowly from the forest and back to the fields. As Claude went, he felt the boy’s haggard breath slightly brush against his ear, lips so close that he could kiss them. He laughed to evict his nervousness and ignored the apparent hard-on he was having.

“Hey, listen, I’m really sorry about shooting you,” he said closely.

The boy’s head moved lazily against Claude’s shoulder—an attempt to dismiss. “It was an accident. You did not mean to maim me.”

_Oh, what an angel. A sweet, sweet boy._

“My name is Claude by the way. Claude von Riegan.”

“Oh, like the company that makes all the laptops and phones?”

There was a short breathy laugh and Claude nearly fell over upon the sound of it.

_Is that all my grandfather’s company is known for? Are our phones even good? But, by the one true goddess, his laugh is like a harp from the heavens—please let me hear more!_

“Yes, actually. My grandfather is the CEO.”

“That is fascinating. My laptop is actually one of the new models that got released this year.”

“Seriously? Is it any good—I don’t tend to use any of my grandfather’s products.”

“It gets the job done,” the boy said simply with a semblance of a smile on his paling face. The blood was from his wound was seeping out out of his uniform and down to his arm in small streams. Claude gently ushered him along, trying to tame the rising panic in his stomach.

“So, what’s your name, my wounded friend? I would like to know who exactly I shot in a school full of rich children of dynasties.”

“Are you afraid that I will come after you? It was an accident,” the boy said suddenly so serious, as though Claude had implied that he was expecting some retribution. He even strained his neck to peer over at the other boy in mild concern.

Claude chuckled under his breath and shook his head. “No, no, cupid’s arrow struck you from my bow and I really would like to know your name.”

“Oh.” It was the other boy’s turn to blush and he turned his head out to the passing forest. “I’m Dimitri.”

_Ohhhh, that’s what Hilda said._

“Dimitri what? Come now, don’t leave me hanging. Is your family’s company is known to make the same damn phone model for every year?”

“Blaiddyd. Alexandre Blaiddyd,” he said with a hesitation that Claude did not understand.

“Shit, ain’t that a mouth full. I can never understand why you rich kids gotta have such long-ass names,” the other boy said in a jesting manner, never once noticing how Dimitri eyed him, openly appalled even in his weakened state. “But it’s nice to put a name to that pretty face.”

“Please Claude, don’t make me laugh. My shoulder stings even as I speak.”

The pair eventually got to Manuela’s office where the soft-skinned beauty nearly fell over in her seat at the large, incredibly obvious arrow that was sticking out of Dimitri’s left shoulder, and the faint trail of blood following them from the front of the building.

“What the fuck happened?!” She screamed, her hands shaking at the sight of the wound. Her eyes wandered frantically from Dimitri who was growing weaker from each moment and Claude who watched his music teacher have a mental breakdown right in front of his eyes. When she finally stared at him, looking desperately for answers, he sighed.

“Doc, it was—”

“My fault,” Dimitri interrupted. Claude whipped his head around and stared at his golden-haired God with wide eyes. _What the fuck are you doing?!_ He practically shouted from his silent expression of disbelief.

“I didn’t watch where I was going and ended up walking through the archery range on the lawn.”

Manuela’s brow furrowed deeply like a mother’s anger born out of worry. “That was incredibly negligent, Dimitri. You should have known better! What if that arrow shot you in the head?”

“I’m so sorry.”

_Better yet, why are they giving dangerous weapon access to troubled children? I’m the best example of why you need to lock up the stuff._

“Claude, let’s put him down over here. Yes, right on that chair—keep him sitting. Take this and just press it softly under the arrow. I’ll need to go fetch some help in dealing with this.”

“I’ll stay with him,” Claude said unconsciously.

Manuela nodded. “Thank you. I’ll be back soon.”

Once the doctor ran out of the office and out of sight, Claude immediately turned to Dimitri who lobbed his head weakly against the boy’s hip— _ignore the touch, dammit—_ green eyes flaring in a hot mixture of accusation and confusion.

“Why did you cover for me?”

“Because it was an accident? I didn’t want you to get a demerit,” Dimitri breathed as he held the cloth up against his wound.

“You don’t even know me…,” Claude muttered and clenched his fists tightly.

“So? I don’t need a reason to hold you in blame. Truly, it’s okay.”

There it was: a light, fluffy feeling swamped Claude’s heart like mist and he had to turn his head away to hide his expression. In that moment, he wondered if he was sick, stuck so suddenly by a fever. Even his hands felt sweaty and hot, a far cry his usual coolness. Or perhaps a hex of some kind that Dimitri had set upon him? Whatever the answer maybe, he was struggling internally by just being this close to the boy.

Mother had always told him on such things as love and affection. _You’ll know once you feel it—it’s either instantaneous or gradually over time. But it’s such a wonderful and intoxicating feeling, Khalid._ While it surely felt intoxicating, he did take any joy from this. And the trivial nature of her words gave Claude no reason to seek them out. To him, they seemed to be things that distracted the person—clouded their judgment and steered them away from their ambitions. And when things went wrong, everything stung and burned. What was the point?

Claude was right: there was absolutely no sense or logic in what he was feeling now. He did not even know Dimitri. And yet, his entire body was burning up like coat being overturned in ablaze. _This was_ _not a good feeling_ , he thought to himself, _no, this will pass. It has to._

“Claude.”

“Hm?” The boy looked up from his heated thoughts and glanced over to Dimitri who was regarding him with a kind, yet weary expression; he almost boiled over right then and there.

“I was wondering why exactly you were trying to shoot an apple out of a tree.”

“Oh.” he blinked. “Hilda was just dared me to shoot an apple of the tree, blindfolded.”

“From the Golden Deer house?”

“Yeah, I actually just joined the house last week. She’s been the main person I’ve been clinging to for help. I didn’t realized that when trouble reared its head, she would take off in a dash.”

Dimitri laughed, fairly strained and hoarse. Nonetheless, the sound itself was heaven. “That house has wonderful people though. I study with Marianne sometimes—I think you’re very lucky to be in a nice family.”

“Ha.” Claude took a chance and reached over hesitantly. He gently ran his fingers through Dimitri’s hair and the boy leaned into the touch unconsciously. “And what about you, handsome? What house are you from?”

“The Blue Lions.”

_The other house, led by Edelgard’s brother. What a coincidence. I need to thank Hilda later._

“I haven’t met any students from the other houses yet. You know, since I’m new.”

“Oh, am I your first?” Dimitri said lightly and lifted his head up. “Well, isn’t this such a memorable meeting.”

Claude laughed. “I’m glad I could make it memorable. Of course, your housemates will want to know about your wound—”

“I was going to ask of you: don’t tell them.”

“Excuse me?”

Dimitri’s face was drained of all color and he shook his head frantically. “They’re...overprotective. It would be best if this incident was kept between you, me, and Manuela.”

Claude frowned. Overprotective? They must be a very close house to throw up arms over a member of theirs getting hurt. He couldn’t imagine how Edelgard’s brother would react. If he was anything like his sister, then Claude had another thing coming for him. He didn’t need the scorn of both house presidents on his ass. It’s only been a week and he was already making enemies.

“That’s a good idea,” he finally said, nodding. “But aren’t they gonna notice the very obvious wound in your shoulder?”

“I always wear my uniform—they won’t see unless I take everything off.”

_Please do._

“What about your classes? I doubt Jeralt let you climb over anything.”

“Manuela will excuse me. Seriously, Claude, don’t worry about it. If they found out, I won’t let anyone know that it was you,” Dimitri concluded with a small smile; his tone closing all discussion on the matter.

Claude laughed nervously. This wasn’t like him, getting so worked up over a person. But no manner of constraint was able to hold down the growing heat at the pit of his stomach, and he could only continue, ignoring everything his body was urging him to do.

“Worry? Me? The only thing I have to worry about is Seteth giving me another lecture on love and community. That or that scary ruler he carries around.”

“He does not actually use it—I think he just waves it around to be scary.” Dimitri stopped. “Though he did use it that one time when Sylvain was making kissing noises at Felix. The man can hit really hard.”

“Oh, I believe you. I think under all those monastery robes is a very muscular dude. Hell, even Hilda called him a dilf,” Claude explained.

Dimitri cocked his head with a quizzical look. “A dilf? What’s a dilf?”

Neither of the boys said anymore; they stared at each other, both caught up in the silence that encased the room. It was here that Claude just noticed how absolutely bright Dimitri’s blue eyes were or how his face was devoid of any underlying pretension—not like Hilda. Not like himself either. What was there instead was a solemn sort of sadness that made him appear soft and pure.

God, this boy was beautiful.

And it made Claude wondered on how did such a creature end up in Garreg Mach. Exactly what sort of trouble he got into, to be thrown in Fódlan’s top correctional school. Claude could not imagine that it was as bad as what he did, but somehow, the thought weakened him. He almost wanted to ask Dimitri too—but pulled back at the last second, realizing the unspoken rule of the school. If he wasn’t going to tell anyone, neither was Dimitri.

“It’s...a daddy you want to fuck,” Claude finally said bluntly. “Dilf. Get it?”

Dimitri’s face reddened and he turned away. “Ah, okay. I think Sylvain mentioned it during one of his long talks of acronyms. I was not paying attention.”

“I don’t blame you. I think it’s better if you say the whole thing out loud than a bunch of stupid letters strung together. It gets the message out more clearer,” Claude said with a wink.

“I-okay, yes, I see what you m-mean.”

“Are you okay? You sound like you’re choking.”

“No, you’re just...you’re very different, Claude.”

Claude stopped. He peered closely at the injured boy, his mind blank and hollow. Any sort of response he was hoping for certainly was nowhere as close as that. And yet it hardly sounded like an insult. Instead, he smiled sweetly and rubbed Dimitri’s good shoulder.

“And by that, you mean?”

“You’re very forward.” He rose his head. “But I don’t mean that in a bad way.”

“Ha. Well, get used to it. I don’t like to watch my language very well.”

“Oh, does this mean I’ll be seeing you around?”

Claude just realized the implications on what he meant and he turned by the mere thought of it.

“I—”

Just at that moment, Manuela burst through the room with two other medical aids. She gave the boys a quick nod as they scrambled around the room, throwing supplies down a prep tray.

And right behind her was a person that nearly made Claude fall over in fright.

Those familiar eyes of purple emerged from the darkness and threw sharp daggers at him—accusation, hate, spite, all ebbing violently from the small figure of Garreg Mach's very own princess. She strolled right up to the pair, her sharp heels denting the floor below as though it had insulted her mother, and she crossed her arms.

Surprisingly, Dimitri spoke first.

“El, I can explain—”

A sharp voice of power greeted him harshly. “You’ll explain shit. How the fuck did this happen?”

_By the only goddess, what a mouth._

Claude lurched forward. “Look, it’s my fault—”

“No, it’s mine. I was the one who walked through the archery practice field,” Dimitri said desperately, gesturing to the arrow implanted in his shoulder.

But it did not seem to discourage Edelgard from slowly glaring over at Claude. At that moment, he felt like a mouse in an open field, staring right into the beak of a leering Eagle. No cover, nowhere to run. Just him and a hungry predator. Her eyes shot at him, already pent full of rage.

“ _You._ Who are you?” She asked—demanded lowly.

“Claude von Riegan of the Golden Deer House. Uh, pleased to make your acquaintance?”

Edelgard’s frown deepened; the mouse looked around and realized that the open field had mines.

“Can you explain to me why exactly does my brother have an arrow sticking out of his shoulder?”

“El, seriously, it was an accident—”

“I didn’t ask you—I asked _him_.”

But Claude was not listening. He went white upon Edelgard’s words and stared out into the great, big open. So many different thoughts bounced violently around in his head, muffling out the sharp voices that echoed outside. _Dimitri is Edelgard’s brother._ Unless she had two brothers on campus, this meant that the beautiful, soft boy he nearly killed with his arrow was the House President of the Blue Lions.

He was the other House President.

No wonder why Edelgard had so much power—how could someone so sweet resist against such a brute of a sister. The lions themselves were right in being so overprotective. Claude could not imagine ever allowing Dimitri to step outside of the dormitories.

But now he knew, that arrow was fate. All clicked together like clockwork and he blinked back to reality when he heard Manuela’s voice calling out to him.

“Claude, honey. I appreciate you keeping Dimitri company, but Edelgard is here now. You are allowed to leave while we treat his wounds,” She said, gesturing to the open door.

“Oh, yes of course,” he said with a nod. Anything to bury Edelgard’s inquires though, from her fierce expression, it was almost certain that she would not forget this slight anytime soon. She might even be willing to hunt him down and corner him for answers like some loan shark. Claude had to get out of here as soon as possible.

Then he felt a slight tug on his hand, someone weakly holding him back. He turned to see Dimitri staring back at him kindly with soft eyes. A pain throbbed in Claude’s heart, threatening to burst.

“Will I see you again soon?” He asked earnestly with a small smile. 

“For you, baby, definitely.”

Edelgard’s foot went down. The ground chipped before her. “Get. Out.”

That little mouse ran far, somehow dodging all the mines as the eagle stared back at its wasted prey. But for that mouse, it knew exactly what it had wanted now.

Happiness was just a few steps away. It was so close. 

That lonely night, Claude, awakened by dreams of his golden god, and spoken with sleepy Hilda under the secrecy of the kitchen. Green eyes dark and heavy with a passion even she could not recognize, and he said lowly: “I need you to help me become the Golden Deer House President.”

_Oh my sweet songbird, I am coming._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo! 
> 
> This is an exceptionally long chapter so I hope y'all bear with me here. As you can see, I'm not a fan of slow-burn very much, but I plan to make things interesting through c o n f l i c t and a n g s t. 
> 
> Stick around to see the shit Claude gets himself on his path to happiness---Lorenz, you got a big storm coming. 
> 
> Follow me at Twitter at https://twitter.com/Meatbike344 for future updates.


	3. The Stag King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude suffers through some weird shenanigans for his election campaign; investigates his opponent; reveals his true face in the dark (NSFW at the end)

_**Lessons in Ancient Almyran Politics** _

_\- How to force cooperation among unsteady allies -_

_Allies are sacred in the land of War and Poetry, and the call of brotherhood has never united Almyra more until now. However, this does not change the poisonous nature of the court; loyalties change so quickly and a man once sworn into brotherhood could be an enemy the next._

_That is why it is very important to inspire loyalty among your allies or force cooperation. The former being the most traditional route to an everlasting brotherhood. Acts of kindness and genuine concern should be best expressed in this method. The latter method, however, for those allies who struggle against the goodwill of their masters._

_Some allies simply cannot be bought nor will they so easily accept one’s disposition._

_It’s always easier to force cooperation from such individuals—-seek out their secrets, find where they covet their most precious information and threaten to bring it out to the open._

_More often than naught, this will persuade them,_

_But one must caution themselves and hide their own secrets well lest the same fate should befall them._

Before Claude had arrived to Garreg Mach, Lorenz was on the track road to becoming the Golden Deer House President. It was only so fortunate that the Gloucester heir made it as far as he could upon the general apathy and disinterest of his fellow housemates.

Unlike the Black Eagles or Blue Lions, the Golden Deers were generally independent and saw no need for a house president. They were unified in want for the community but existed on their own. Each and every person was fine with a round table style of cooperation than a house president.

All except Lorenz.

He was the only one who kept pushing for a house president election—great speeches of leadership and nobility seeping through the utter hiss of voice every night. And every time, the Golden Deers rejected the idea feverishly.

But persistence was an ocean; how often did it crash against the cliffs and eroded away all that was sharp and strong? Eventually, the Golden Deers begrudgingly relented and Seteth had set up a house president election for the end of the month. Unlike them, the dean seemed pleased that the Golden Deers were finally electing a house president. It will provide a much-needed voice to the one-sided council of the Black Eagles and Blue Lions, often dominated by Edelgard.

A tie-breaker, essentially.

Of course, Lorenz was noticeably, the most thrilled at this prospect. There was, in his mind, no one more qualified than him. No one else in the house showed any passion for the role of leadership—-they all seemed too distracted by their own hobbies and equal in their want of a unified alliance.

However, all was well now——the righteous order will be restored soon and Lorenz can finally unite a house properly.

Then Claude von Riegan arrived.

Claude, himself, was aware of the other boy’s immediate disdain the minute their eyes met. The familiar look of fury, maybe even envy, swirled, and throbbed like a deformed tumor under the skin. But neither had yet to say it to one another and they didn’t need to: they just knew.

It was evident to Claude that while Lorenz perceived him as a threat, his victory was surely guaranteed that he hardly needed to worry about some troublesome new housemate. Claude would know his authority just as the others would.

Of course, Claude would have to disagree.

“You need to earn everyone’s votes before the election at the end of the month,” Hilda had instructed him. “They still don’t know you that well yet so try to spend some time with each person this week.”

“And another thing.” A grave seriousness washed over her usual lax expression, “Lorenz will definitely file an appeal against you to Seteth. He’ll try and convince him that you’re a faulty choice in the election.”

Claude’s throat tightened at the thought of Lorenz’s cheap victory. “What should I do then?” He whispered.

His companion shook her head solemnly. “I don’t know. Dealing with Seteth is difficult. Maybe there’s a way you can stop Lorenz from potentially filing an appeal against you.”

“Perhaps.” The gears in Claude’s mind clicking together. If his father were here, he would try and push for a conversation. Talk and make peace Lorenz, and establish common ground with him. 

But it was hard to talk someone already so set in their prejudices—some people simply cannot be spoken to. Again, it was dangerous to assume Lorenz was not a figure of reason, but Claude certainly needed a back-up plan if words could not sway the Gloucester heir.

He stared at Hilda or rather through her, distantly trying to clear the fog in his head. There was something there—Claude could feel it, and when he saw even when a glimpse, he understood very faintly what he needed to do.

“Hilda.”

“Hm?”

“Do you have any idea why Lorenz is here? A rumor you might have overheard?”

The pink-haired beauty shook her head. “No, actually. And believe me—I tried. You’d think the son to the second biggest tech empire would have the media buzzing about his attendance here. But I’m sure daddy dearest covered his tracks. Mine sure didn’t,” she huffed irritably with her arms crossed.

“Then he must have done something terrible, huh. Time for some investigating.” Claude’s eyes riveted to Hilda and he arched a brow suggestively. “And, my lovely lady, how do I earn your vote?”

She giggled. “As if you didn’t earn it when you shot poor Dimitri. Man, you should have seen the look on Edelgard’s face—she was looking for someone to murder.”

 _I’ll have to avoid the princess, for now_ , Claude thought to himself.

He only had a week to earn the trust of the Golden Deers, and a week to possibly stop Lorenz going over his head to the scary nun. A week was too short, at least for most people. Claude had settled scores for shorter amounts of time—how hard could this be?

On Monday, after a surprisingly successful therapy session—to which Claude might have overstepped his bounds with Lorenz by staring the boy right in the eye and replying his weekly goal being leadership learning—he had volunteered to help Lysithea carry her library books. He practically had to crane his head around the stack that towered to the skies in order to watch where he was going.

Ever since the first day, Lysithea had softened her reception of Claude and even brushed off some of his more colorful jokes. He soon found out that under all those layers of fierce intelligence and diligence was truly a little girl, because, after a lengthy library visit, he’d suggested a treat to some cake. She practically foamed at the mouth from excitement.

“You’re being awfully nice. What’s your aim, Claude?” Lysithea grunted with her cheeks stuffed with cake. She had taken the whole pastry for herself, only leaving a slice for Claude—not that he minded.

The young man shrugged nonchalantly. “I just wanted to get to know you better, that’s all. And everyone else for the matter. I am going to be here for a whole year.”

“That is true...but I hope you won’t shrink from your studies.”

“You really don’t need to worry about poor, old me,” Claude said with a wave. He watched as she threw her entire head down and gobbled the cake up like some kind of starving beast. Bits of frosting and crumbs flew over to his side, and he backed away with a nervous grin.

“So, they send you here because you ate out an entire bakery.”

Lysithea glowered at him. “I’ll hurt you.”

He threw his hands up in defense, feigning a look of fright. “Hey, I’m joking! No need to bear your fangs at me, sweetheart.”

“You’re a risky one, aren’t you? You should know by now not to go around and ask people why they’re here,” she chided, somewhat muffled. “We keep those secrets for a reason. What would you say if I asked you about why you’re here.”

“I killed people.”

“Stop joking, Claude. I mean it.

He smiled darkly and bent forward, finger drumming on the cafe table in a methodical pattern—thinking, scheming. After a while, he straightened up and said softly, “Lysithea.”

The girl grunted in response.

“I know that Lorenz does not like me so I was hoping to talk with him—clear the air. Do you know his schedule at all?”

“Well, I would say mornings are the best time to catch him. Afternoons are bad since he has that stupid club with Ferdinand and Sylvain. And you know he goes to bed early in the evening—I think it’s because we make too much noise in the common room,” Lysithea explained with her fork poking the air.

“Evenings are a no-go, huh…,” Claude muttered to himself. Afternoons were unpredictable—the window of time might be tricky if other housemates were back at the dorm. Or perhaps he could sneak in the dead of the night, but that would require some skill.

“But, if you want to talk to him, make sure you do it before this Friday. Lady Rhea invited all the honor students for a big party so Ignatz, Lorenz, and I will be gone for the day.”

Claude smirked, eyes glittering dangerously. _All-day on Friday? What impeccable timing._

“Hey Lysithea, want me to buy you another cake?”

The small silver-haired maiden nearly flew out of her seat and at Claude like some kind of crouching beast hiding in the dark. Some kind of beast with cream frosting at the cheeks.

_One down, five more to go._

During _Captain Jeralt’s_ drills, Claude took some heart and challenged Leonie and Raphael to a few laps around the school. Naturally, the two not only outran him but had hardly noticed that their competition had fallen face first in the mud. He even gave a weak thumbs up when Leonie squatted near the boy and took a selfie.

Afterward, Raphael dragged the young man to the dining hall where they gorged on chicken wings until Claude puked in the bathroom, Hilda holding back his hair like some kind of hungover party girl.

For Manuela’s art class, Ignatz needed a nude model for his figure studies painting. Naturally, Claude who never really found the time to adopt Fódlan’s conservative shame for the human body agreed—under one condition.

“You can’t sell any nudes without giving me a slice of the profit,” he said, half-laughing.

Ignatz’s face reddened and he bought his hand up to shield his expression. “I...I was not going to…,” he stuttered.

“Oh, I’m kidding, buddy. What I actually wanted to ask you was your support on Sunday when we do the house president vote.”

“Are you going against Lorenz?” Ignatz slowly gave a small, almost pleased smile—nothing like the kind young man Claude got to know since he arrived.

He arched an inquisitive brow. “Having problems with our little housemate?”

“No, no. But he can be...insensitive. I know he doesn’t mean it.”

 _You’re too nice to recognize a rat in golden clothes_ , Claude thought as Ignatz gathered all of his supplies from the room. He mindlessly threw things into a huge crate, which Claude peered over curiously. It was filled with some paints, wrapped bundles with brushes, linseed oil, and...props?

“Whoa, what’s this?” Claude asked, inspecting everything inside.

_Antlers? Hide?_

He could not see Ignatz’s flushed smile.

“I had an idea I wanted to try out for the painting...as long as you do not mind, of course!”

“Hey, go ahead and dress me up as a naked king—I’ll still looks good.”

Ignatz chuckled and propped his glasses up. “That’s terrific. Well, then, to the forest we go then.”

_Forest?_

_F o r e s t?_

______________________

Claude never imagined that his stay at Fódlan’s top correctional school for troubled children would include a nude modeling session, draped in furs, and a set of antlers like some kind of a mountain man. But then again, he lacked an artist’s vision.

Oh if only Hilda could see him now, standing like a champion on top of a rock, with the forest behind him, and his entire body out for the world to see. She would have taken a million pictures in a second for her personal karma.

Ignatz, on the other hand, did not seem too bothered by Claude’s nakedness—of course, since he is an artist.

“Uh, so do I stand like this?”

“Jut out your hips a bit—yes, like that! I just need an hour or so...”

Claude gritted his teeth. “Great...”

The wind brushed up against his bare ass and he shivered. The forest all around them rustled lightly, pinholes of sunlight dancing around the forest ground; the small, distinctive skittering of animals ran all around the foliage—leaves crushing and being thrown in different directions.

Then a much louder sound came—a cluster of sounds, in fact, from far off the forest behind where Ignatz was setting up for his painting. Then, the distinct vibration of voices—human voices. And they only grew closer up to words the path.

Claude froze.

Of course, who wouldn’t upon the cold, dagger stare of Edelgard von Hresvelg herself...and the entire Black Eagle house. They stood in the sunny clearing, mouths agape as Claude locked eyes with the fuming princess of Garreg Mach and grinned suggestively.

“Good afternoon! Nice weather we are having!” He called out, trying his best not to laugh.

Ignatz stopped momentarily, turned to see his uninvited audience, and shrugged before returning back to his painting.

_What a dedicated trooper._

“What the fuck is it?” Edelgard hissed, steam blowing out of her nose like an enraged bull. 

Claude merely looked down at the raging beast with a knowing smile. What could she do, when he’s all the way up here, on the rock like a god. The rest of the house stared wordlessly, faces blushing upon each second.

“What does it look like? I’m the Stag King, ruler of the forest. And you stumbled into my kingdom.” Claude peered down to his cock and looked back to Edelgard. “You like what you see, princess?”

_Because I’ll be ramming it into your sweet, sweet brother soon._

“I-Is this a custom of Fódlan?” asked one of the girls, mesmerized by the sight alone.

Claude nodded. “Yes.”

“No!” Edelgard jumped up with a face redder than a tomato. “Petra, he’s being disgusting—stop staring at it!” she shrieked, spinning around to shield the girl.

“I must say, it is quite bold to be posing naked on school grounds. Not that I’m complaining.” remarked another girl with eyes as dark as her wavy locks; her gaze dropped a bit and she licked her lips.

“Dorothea, stop encouraging him!”

The redhead beside her scratched his head quizzically and he frowned. “Is there some symbolism I’m not getting? Why a stag?”

“It’s the line between beast and man—nature and order, and all that is savage lying under our skin,” Ignatz muttered as he began to touch the canvas with a deep, solemn look.

“Ah.”

“Ferdinand, shut up!”

A short boy with spiky blue hair—the one Claude saw on the lawn his first week, hummed in resounding thought. “Well, if that’s the message, you should have given him a cool bow or something,” he pointed out matter-of-fact.

Claude smiled and winked. “That sounds like a smashing idea.”

The boy perked up and smiled.

“Really?”

“Caspar, that is enough,” Edelgard hissed through her teeth.

“I don’t know why we are so fascinated—it’s just a penis,” remarked the sleepy-eyed lad beside Caspar. He even gestured directly to Claude and shrugged. “It’s average.”

_Fucking ow._

“Linhardt, quiet!”

There was a big, hulking man right behind Edelgard. He stood like a phantom of the night, merging with the backdrop of shadows. His dark hair fell over his dark eyes, concealing the look of absolute chilly spite he shot to Claude. Finally, the pale man bent over to the princess and said, “My lady, we should go hiking somewhere else.”

She nodded vigorously. “Yes, Hubert, I agree, because this is disgust----”

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!”

The small, shivering child right between Dorothea and Ferdinand began to shriek murder, a cry so loud and high that the crows from the trees flew off and scattered in a great fright. She was half shaking, half crying, and everything else under the sun. The entire Black Eagle house spun around and stared at their screaming member with wide eyes. Even Claude nearly fell over from the full force of the noise.

“Wow, Bernadette, it took you that long to notice?” Caspar said, scratching his head.

“Bernie, no!” Dorothea cried and lost all of her earlier composure. “Look away, baby girl!”

“Someone, jump in front of her—form a human circle!”

“Wait, I can cover her eyes!”

“THIS IS WHY I TOLD YOU GUYS I DIDN’T WANT TO LEAVE MY ROOM!!!!”

Claude looked down and frowned. _It’s not that bad, is it?_

Ignatz suddenly stopped. The usually kind boy’s eyes twitched slightly and he spun around, face red with fury. His paint brush almost broke in his hardened grip. Then came a rumble. The roar that came from him was greater than Claude had ever heard, a fire simply hiding in the body of a polite little student.

“Would everyone be quiet! I’m trying to capture fucking beauty here!”

_Ignatz, thank you._

______________________

Claude has rarely spoken with Marianne. Not that he hasn’t tried, but every time he approached the demure girl, she hung her head and spoke very softly to her shoes. Hilda, who was the only one whom Marianne seemed the most comfortable with, had mentioned in passing that she was not used to sudden attempts to be social, that a more appointed and expected event would prove better. So Marianne could slowly adjust and be open for conversation.

Or Claude could just take her horse riding at the stables.

He accepted the latter option.

It was the sunny afternoon on the Thursday after Byleth’s Religion class, where the young instructor had given a one hour lecture on how the Goddess was an “awesome God” and that no other belief comes close to her “awesomeness”.

_I bet she’s ripped, with sick abs and biceps for days._

Remembering Hilda’s advice, Claude had quietly approached Marianne after class. His deliberately slowed his movements, afraid that anything too drastic would frighten the girl. Instead, he waited patiently for her to pack her things away and rubbed his neck as her eyes glanced over his boots.

“Hey, Marianne. I wanted to ask you if you were free to show me around the stables. Maybe ride some horses. I never ridden before and Hilda mentioned that you had a lot of experience with horses.”

Somehow, his words softened the apparent apprehension in Marianne’s eyes and her shoulders loosened as she nodded. There was a small semblance of a smile drawn on her face, just the tiniest bit, and Claude’s heart tugged a bit.

_Who knew that the soft doll could smile?_

Without another word, he followed the girl towards the stables. She had seemingly already packed with her some riding clothes for the day, which meant that this was a common thing she did after class. Perhaps it gave her some relief in whatever terror she felt daily. Even from how far he was trailing, Claude could tell that she was happy—every step with a slight jump, especially as they got closer to the stables.

There were already some riders there; some were on the ground and prepping the horses for the trail. By the gates was a pair of students Claude had never seen before: a girl with golden braided hair who secured a saddle on a white horse. And next to her was a red-headed boy already secured tightly on a black mare, and chatting rather obnoxiously considering his companion's looks of annoyance. The girl peered up and smiled warmly when she spotted the pair.

“Riding today, Marianne?”

“Yes, and I’m showing my friend here how to ride as well.”

_Friend? I’m a friend._

Marianne’s voice suddenly seemed so clear and happy here, even when speaking with other people. Claude felt his lips pull back into an unconscious smile and he had to turn his head away before anyone could notice how happy he was at the moment.

The golden-haired girl nodded and hoisted herself onto the horse. “Ah, well if your friend needs any equipment, he could borrow Dimitri’s—he was supposed to ride with us today but he said that he was too tired.”

_Dimitri?_

Marianne shook her head. “That’s too bad. I hope he can join us soon.”

“I swear,” started the red-head with his arms over his head, frowning. “there’s something wrong with his shoulder or something. It looks like it hurts every time he moves.”

“We’ll take his word for now. Come, Sylvain, the horses are getting too anxious.” The girl looked back at Marianne and Claude with a smile and waved. “Have fun, you guys!”

Claude watched as the pair ride off down the trail and disappear far off into the forest, the colors of their hair intermingling with the foliage until everything blended together. While he didn’t seem to notice, his heart was beating so rapidly against his chest, he could pass it off for an anxiety attack. It actually hurt. Claude held his chest and stopped; his hands were shaking, sweating like a summer’s heat.

Hearing Dimitri’s name again spurred something deep in the boy. He hadn’t seen or heard from his golden god since their faithful encounter on that day in the fields. No matter how hard he tried to search during free periods—usually pulled away by Hilda’s need for chatter. Now, he felt even more excited than before.

_Hold it in—at least until Sunday_

“Claude.”

He looked up, eyes dark with frustration.

Marianne regarded him kindly, holding some straps.

“Would you like to ride with me?”

______________________

“Would you like me to slow down for you? I would not like to leave you behind.”

“No, it’s okay—I’ll manage.”

After an hour of showing Claude how to properly slip-on equipment on a horse and half an hour of the boy attempting to adjust himself on the back of one without falling back into the mud like a fool, they were finally on the forest trail. Marianne, as expected was a master at horse riding, and seemed so naturally as they trotted deeper into the forest. She had a warm smile on her face, and once in a while, patted the side of her mare’s neck lovingly.

Claude watched from his shaky ride—nearly clinging on for dear life.

“How long have you been riding, Marianne?” he asked fumbling about with his spurs.

“About a year.”

“A year!? But you look like you have been doing this your entire life.”

“I do love animals. Maybe that helps,” she suggested softly. “They’re beautiful creatures, you know. They know not of cruelty or hatred or greed. They live and care of this earth, even when we neglect and hurt her. I can’t imagine ever living without their presence.”

The last line she said with a low hum, eyes suddenly withdrawn and lost. The sunlight through the forest canopy shone upon her face and Claude noticed how far away she seemed. Imagining a place beyond here—detached and without any pain.

_What happened to you? Why are you here?_

“You know,” he started nervously with a smile. “while I may not be good with horses, I did have a pet Komodo dragon.”

Marianne’s eyes sparked with life. “Oh, really?”

He nodded. “Yes—my father got her for my tenth birthday. She was an albino too, with skin as white as ivory. That’s what I ended up naming her. Thinking back on it now, it was a stupid name, but I was a kid so who could blame me.” Memories began to emerge from the back of his mind, a creature of his first love. “Ivory had these small black eyes and such a really long tongue. Sometimes she would lick her own eyes. It was funny and cute. I used to watch her for hours as she crawled around her habitat. It was cool whenever she ate stuff. I dunno, I was bored back then but I felt like she was my best friend in the world.”

“And then what happened?”

Marianne played this song and dance before.

Claude’s heart lurched painfully and he looked away. He would not cry—hadn’t done so in years. The first and only time was preserved for her alone.

“I...I didn’t get along very well with my cousins. They never really liked me and they used to bully me all the time.”

_Why am I telling you this?_

“One day, when they came over to visit, they took Ivory out while I was helping my mother in the kitchen. They brought her outside and---”

He stopped. He stared straight ahead, out to the forest where it sketched out towards the end of the trail. Nothing seemed to make sense anymore. He didn’t understand why he was here—not on the trail, but here at Garreg Mach. What did he do that was so wrong? Even now, he struggled to comprehend his parents’ betrayal, to dump him here like a broken toy that needed to be fixed.

A warm, soft hand touched him and he looked over to see Marianne showcasing a sympathetic smile. She nodded very gently and leaned back.

“It’s okay, Claude. I know.”

“You do?”

“Yes.” She peered down at her hands. “Thank you for riding with me.”

Claude’s voice tightened as he spoke: “You’re welcome.”

______________________

When Friday rolled around and Lorenz went off with Ignatz and Lysithea for the day, Claude chose to return back to the dorms during free period for a feigned nap on the couch. There were few members back at the house, mostly Leonie preparing for a run and Hilda who was taking Marianne out to lunch. The girls waved Claude a farewell—Hilda, winking at him, and they house emptied itself.

It was 3:00 in the afternoon, and Claude cracked his fingers for a bit of espionage.

Lorenz’s room was directly right across from him, though they rarely bumped into each in the morning as Claude was an early riser and Lorenz took time to iron out his uniform for the day, however, he made note of how his pretentious neighbor would stay up in the late hours of the night; his light was always on, shining up the dark hallway while everyone was asleep. Only Claude noticed during his midnight water runs.

_What could he be doing up so late?_

Of course, Claude was going to get his answer. He leaned in close to the door and tried the handle—surprisingly, it wasn’t locked. Then again, the Golden Deers weren’t the type to snoop on each other. At least, until Claude arrived in their little paradise.

Lorenz’s room was, as he expected, very orderly. Everything was organized and cleaned, with not a speck of dust anywhere. Blood red roses were placed in the open windowsill, a few petals scattered around the glass vase. His bed was already made and folded together, and his bookshelf was color-coded. Claude felt a flush of jealously from seeing how this man actually took time to put his books back together.

All expect one book.

It was a purple tome lying right on his immaculate desk. A pencil was placed very symmetrical to the book as if Lorenz took some time to arrange everything before he left. Order. Control. It was not so hard to imagine the great pain of interruptions within the Gloucester heir’s life.

It was only a shame that Claude arrived when he did.

He slid his hands over the book—it wasn’t novel, clearly a journal of some sort considering the blank cover. After a while of consideration, listening to the hollow, white noises in the house—devoid of the usual laughter, he opened the book and began reading.

There’s this concept Claude’s father always told him, one the resounded deeply in the hearts of Almyran’s since the first sunrise. Warriors of the old era were granted a gift from the gods. Upon victory, be it blade or tongue would come a profound almost near intoxicating sense of joy. An eruption more like all the senses. Or simply, as close as one may get to _pride_. It surges through the blood like fire and gives a newly found energy to the body. A warrior screams out in might and waves to the screaming crowd.

Claude was feeling that now. But it was strange. Usually, this rush is felt through blood sport, through human domination and destruction. The ancient Almyrans so eagerly captured this feeling in battle much too often, barbarians under the sun. But Claude could not help but laugh to himself as the rush went to his finger, boiling over in hot climax.

Perhaps his stay in Garreg Mach won’t be too bad after all.

______________________

Claude was strangely calm—relaxed during confessional with Lady Rhea. She should have realized that it was a signal for something, a storm brewing in the troubled young man. But she didn’t ask about that. As usual, the headmaster asked Claude again, a fruitless endeavor at this point, if he knew why he was here.

He only smiled softly, looking out beyond her head, and said: “I think I know now.”

That night, the Golden Deer house gathered around the living room. They stumbled out of their rooms with a grumble—Ignatz’s hands were covered in paint and he was rubbing them clean with a cloth; Raphael had woken up from his nap and yawned out with a stretch; Leonie was sweating, obviously practicing some combat moves; Lysithea was reading a book and seemed annoyed by the intrusion; Marianne shifted out the room awkwardly, without trying to bump into anyone. Hilda was waiting by Claude’s door, still texting as usual, but she winked at the boy rather knowingly with a smile. And finally, the man of the hour: Lorenz. He had his chest puffed out and was sparkling of figurative roses as his high airs suffocated the entire hallway.

The gang gathered around the living room, aggravated groans noised very loudly. Claude simply sat down next to Hilda and the two of them watched the Gloucester heir clear his throat in a rather haughty manner and smiled.

_This will be good._

“I’m glad everyone can gather here today---”

“Oh stuff it,” Leonie snapped and crossed her arms. “We have a lot of things to deal with tonight so let’s just get this over with.”

Lorenz smiled knowingly and clasped his hands together. “Could not have said it better myself, Leonie. Now then, why don’t we get started? Now, I’m everyone here knows that the Golden Deer House lacks a house president.”

“Which I don’t see the point in us needing…,” Raphael confessed with a head scratch. “I mean, we were fine just representing ourselves.”

“Yeah, we even made that cute chore wheel on the fridge,” Lysithea said. “It gives everyone equal responsibilities.”

“Lorenz, I don’t see why you keep pushing us to get a ‘leader’. Why fix what’s not broken?” Hilda added and shrugged.

Everyone nodded and agreed as the Gloucester heir cleared his throat roughly. Irritation flashed in his eyes but he covered it up with an amiable smile. Only Claude noticed and this strengthens the impatience within.

_Wait for it…_

“I understand the concern but it’s only the proper: the Black Eagles and the Blue Lions both have house presidents. We need one as well, especially if we wanted to be considered in the school council.”

“Okay but if the Black Eagles and Blue Lions jumped off a cliff, do we follow them?” Leonie said as she leaned back in her seat.

“Say what you will.” Lorenz brushed his ridiculous hair back. “But no one is sleeping tonight unless we all vote on a house president. And since I’m the only contender, the election will only be for a quick sec---”

He stopped, face paled at the sight of Claude with his hand raised in the air. The green-eyed boy was watching Lorenz closely, with a cutting smile that only meant trouble. However, Claude was counting on Lorenz to stop—he loved protocols too much.

“Uh...what is it, Riegan,” he said hesitantly, watching him back with a wary expression.

“Yeah, so, if we’re doing house president elections now, is it possible that I can jump onto that ballot?”

“Excuse me---”

“I mean, it doesn’t seem fair that you’re running unopposed. I like a little challenge once in a while,” Claude said, winking.

Never before had he seen such a look of rage before imprinted on Lorenz’s face, even during the most irritable moments between them. No, this time, the manifestation of anger itself took hold and Lorenz practically strolled over to Claude's face, one long finger pointed right between the eyes like a gun.

“You! To think that someone like you, a stranger, has any chance against me---”

“I’d vote for him,” Hilda interrupted. His head swerved, fast enough to snap his neck if he did it at the right angle, and stared dumbfounded at the Goneril daughter.

“Pardon?”

“Yeah, Claude’s fun. Did you know that he took archery?” she said, never once looking up from her phone screen.

“I have to admit, Claude would be a good leader. He even helped me with my painting project this week,” Ignatz stated.

Raphael nodded beside him. “Honestly, any dude that can stuff down four buckets of chicken wings without breaking a sweat has my vote,” he said and laughed out.

“I wouldn’t mind him representing us. I know he’s very attentive…,” Marianne muttered rather loudly for someone of her disposition; she stared over at Claude who smiled graciously to her.

“I don’t think you ever had any time to help me with my library books, Lorenz. You didn’t even want to share dessert with me in the dining halls,” Lysithea spouted and stared at the boy with glowering eyes. She leaned in against Leonie and huffed like a child.

“Leonie,” Lorenz called out in a panic—he was losing them in a matter of seconds and peered over to the redhead with desperate eyes—pleading internally. “Don’t tell me you’re falling for his tricks too.”

She shrugged. “You're annoying, Lorenz. End of story.”

“So that’s it?! You’re all voting for Claude?! Just like that!??”

Everyone looked at one another, then to Claude who sat up against Hilda’s shoulder with a lazy-pleased expression, and then back at Lorenz who was suffering through a mental breakdown right in the middle of the living room. They nodded rather firmly.

Loren did not say anything. It was, as if, at that moment, something broke within. Something stopped ticking, stopped working, stopped moving all at once. The tall boy wavered a bit, the threat of falling over palpable as Claude rose to potentially catch him. But he didn’t fall. Instead, Lorenz blinked rapidly and then made his way straight upstairs.

Claude followed after him, ignoring the eyes of his other housemates.

______________________

“Don’t try and convince me, Riegan. You’ll only make it worse.”

“Really. Well, let me try.”

Lorenz had gone straight to his room and pulled out his laptop. The light from the screen illuminated the boy’s cold, unfeeling face as he began to rapidly type something down with an angry vigor.

Claude walked in without an invitation and shut the door behind him. There was no light for him, just the shadows of tree branches dancing across the walls from the evening sky. Claude’s own face was shielded by the darkness, only his green eyes illuminated as he watched Lorenz from the corner of the room.

“There’s no way Seteth will allow this election to happen. He’ll have to listen to me. I don’t know what you did to convince the others but you won’t get one over me so easily—-“

“Have you ever been to Almyra?”

Lorenz’s fingers stopped a bit, before continuing on with a less focused pace. The boy refused to look up.

“What in the world are you talking about?”

Claude stepped closer, boots heavy against the oak floor, and he stopped right at Lorenz’s desk. It was strange, on the lack of emotion on Claude’s face. There was no sardonic smile, no such look of cutting sarcasm anywhere.

Suddenly, Lorenz didn’t feel so safe with the door closed.

“Did you know that Fódlan's tech market has been battling against Almyra’s for years? Obviously, out of fear of monopolization of their technology.”

“Of course I know,” Lorenz said, scoffing. “My father had to endure much to ensure our company remains completely free of Almyran influence.”

“Yes, well. You should know then on an incident that happened last year, right?”

“What incident?”

Claude smiled with his teeth. “That Almyra somehow acquired a schematic developed in Fódlan.”

Those long fingers stopped. A breath caught in a choke. The rabbit cornered against the thicket.

_There you go._

“The feds investigated this case for months. They practically cleaned out every big tech corp in Eastern Fódlan including my own grandfather’s company. But they didn’t find shit. And then a year later, you showed up here.” Claude tilted his head. “Funny how that works.”

Lorenz was dying. He was choking. He needed breath. “You...I did not do anything.”

“ _Father dearest_ ,” Claude started and began to walk around the room in a dramatic trance. Lorenz watched him, eyes as wide as the witness moon itself. “ _It has been a month since you left me here for my retribution. You have saved me from the utter humiliation of the world, and yet, punished me through a year of loneliness, in a school full of children so beneath me. I know of my sins; I know I should not have sold our patent to the Almyrans, but I hope you understood that it was for the good of our family. They promised to exchange their own AI formula. How would I know that they_ ——“

“Please...”

Claude stopped and peered over to Lorenz. He crumpled back against the desk, his face buried into his arm. Every breath was haggard and heavy, and his voice was laced with fatigue—-defeat.

Claude smiled. “Yes?”

“What...what the fuck do you want, Claude von Riegan?”

“First, close that laptop. You won’t be contacting Seteth any time soon.”

Lorenz complied and Claude felt a rush in his body. It tickled him like a high-intensity drug and left him feeling utterly breathless, an itch that needs a scratch.

“Second, I want you to tell me exactly what I am.”

Lorenz’s eyes dropped, defeat evident in his shoulder. “You are—-“

“Look at me,” Claude ordered darkly, his laughing voice gone and replaced with a sinister hiss. The other boy slowly looked up and only saw an abyss with a pair of emerald eyes.

“You are the Golden Deer House President,” he bemoaned and watched as those eyes narrowed so thinly in pleasure. A sigh, a release into the room.

Something felt _tight_ in Claude from down below.

“Yes, yes, I am. And you answer to me, don’t you?”

“Yes, Rieg—-“

“Sir.”

“Yes sir.”

It was getting tighter. _Heavier_. His vision was practically ebbing white and red.

“Good,” he whispered and then softly kicked the chair Lorenz was sitting on, giving it a playful nudge.

“Now, one last thing.”

“...Yes?”

 _Tight_. A rubber band being pulled on both sides, threatening to snap. _Too tight_.

Claude shuddered deeply. “Down on your knees and lick my fucking boots, Gloucester,” he ordered.

Without another word, Lorenz slowly lowered himself to the ground. Claude watched in awe as the shivering boy got on his hands and knees——the Gloucester heir actually bowing to the floor as he looked to Claude, looked to his boots and then.

Claude groaned. Everything went white. A release was finally achieved and a sensation of great passion flushed him.

Once the act was committed, he laughed out darkly, peered down to Lorenz who seemed to be half crying on the ground, and warned with a playful wink.

“Be a good boy and obey from now on, won’t you?”

“...yes, sir.”

Claude stared at him, pride sweltering in his chest as he finally exited the room and left Lorenz to the darkness of his cage. Would it be so terrible to say that he lingered a bit, to enjoy the faint sounds of sobbing that followed?

A victory well earned.

That night, the Stag King, still full from his victory of war and subjugation of an unruly subject—-for it is natural for the king to discipline his men, dreamed a dream most wonderful.

His love spread out naked, chained on all sides like a common dog; beautiful, bruised lips pulled back with a strap, and crying eyes concealed with a tight blindfold. Claude slowly crept up from beyond towards the meal before him.

And how beautiful his meal was.

A sacrifice to be taken up by the Gods. A virgin at the altar for blood. The knife to plunge grew tight and hot under him—-but the time was too soon. He must enjoy the taste first, the delicacy of all its ingredients.

Claude’s hand reached out without trepidation and ran down softly against the cold, pale skin. His love shivered upon the touch, chains rattling as he moaned.

The beautiful pink of his nipple was pulled soft under Claude’s attentive fingers, tugging and flicking it gently as his love struggled even more with a half-crying plead, tragically muffled by the ball in his mouth.

Everything was getting hot—-it was hard to breathe, hard to see. Oh how that beautiful boy’s chest rose and fell upon every breath, and Claude could not help himself but lean over and noisily suck on the nipple.

His hands grew anxious and began to roam; feeling the perfect body before him, and clenched tightly at that ass.

Oh that boy thrashed, he tried screaming, tears flowing like a river down his reddened cheeks, but nothing could stop as Claude lifted his head up, saliva dripping from his mouth, and felt his love’s hardened cock against his thigh.

His own arousal with thick—-twitching violently with precum, and ready for its role as the sacrificial knife for this beautiful maiden. His love moaned and cried, but nothing could be done—-to be chained up and presented as a meal, already so ready to be eaten, oh how can he resist?

Claude grinned like a mad god and drew his fingers down toward his love’s entrance. Wet, slick, already so prepared for his seed like a bride on her wedding night. And how he aimed to please her well.

But Claude was a kind God. He must prep his bride first; a long finger pushed in and his love practically shivered with fright. The pale cock before him bounced, begging to be touched, to be released.

_Patience my dear. Patience._

He thrusted in and watched the boy cry out desperately. His chains rattled and pulled, and his cheeks reddened with sweat. He was breathing heavily and everything on the bed was rocking violently. Once Claude felt comfortable, he added another long finger and watched with clouded, dark eyes as his love slowly descended from crying to long moans.

He shook his head, trying to deny, but his hardened bouncing cock squirted a bit over his pale body—-tears, sweat, cum upon the face of absolute beauty.

Claude began to thrust faster, harder, adding a third finger in there for the full effect. Resistance was an easy cancer to kill and there was nothing more precious than the angelic beauty before him finally opening himself up like a bitch in heat.

When Claude withdrew out, fingers coated in juices, the boy laid back onto the bed—-sweat and cum intermingling against the sheets as he breathed for air.

_Oh but we’re not done yet, my bride._

Claude felt like laughing at his love’s dangerous assumption of ending. Nothing ends with him. Not like this.

Slowly, Claude drew himself up against the boy, hands clenched so tightly to his sides that he would surely leave marks.

With his cock pulsing and twitching for this hole, he carefully pushed in and the boy groaned. It was tight—-walls clenching all around him as he forced in an inch.

A cry from his weeping bride and he shivered violently as Claude pushed himself all the way—-everything wet and slick and tight. He laughed darkly, feeling the hot insides of his love, and began to move.

Claude grew impatient. He never liked to tease for too long. And he played to fucked.

It started with a rough, shallow fucking with Claude clutching tightly onto his bride—-his beautiful bride, wailing muffled noises into his mouth guard as the bed rocked beneath them. The chains rattled and the cuffs left deep red marks into the ivory skin. Blood.

Soon the thrusting became violent—hard, and absolutely relentless. Wet skin slapping against skin as his cock plunged deep into the boy without rest, no mercy for the noises he was making. Bodies surging into one.

Claude leaned forward into his force, his bangs stuck to the sweat against his face as he gripped his lover’s cock and pumped rapidly the twitching shaft, precum decorating his fingers.

_That’s right. Fucking cry for me. Wail, moan. You belong to me. Let me hear you—-let me hear all of you._

The boy, as if possessed by a great sudden heat, began to push himself down and met with the utter force for Claude’s thrusts. The sounds of skin grew louder. The bed rocketed with the threat of collapse, and the sounds of grunting filled the room. And then he found it.

He struck it and his lover made a noise he never heard of before. He struck that same spot again and the boy melted against the bed.

He growled, and then angled himself before plunging deeply—-relentless with a newly founded vigor; his lover’s body jerking upward and crying out, as Claude’s thick cock continued to invade him from the inside, pulsing hotly near his stomach.

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t see. He was being violently taken over by a force of love even he couldn’t comprehend.

Claude pumped the boy’s hard cock quickly, whispering sweet words of sensation into his ear—-encouragements for release, as he thrusted harder, his balls slapping against the base of his love’s tight ass.

And my what a tight ass it was.

The boy gave a mighty cry and hot ribbons of cum shot out all over his body; spraying white on his bruised nipples, his face, his nose. The cock twitched out more, even shivering a bit from the force.

But Claude was not done yet.

He kept thrusting, the growing hot pit in his stomach swelling hard, and it grew faster—bigger, filling his entire being with a devil’s possession, a heat he could no longer contain as it pulsed violently at the base of cock—-trapped and shaking.

Finally, with one great final movement, he plunged deeply into his love and spilled everything out into the boy’s guts. They both screamed out, as his cum overloaded the insides and spilled out from at the entrance. A puddle formed around them, all wet and sticky. Hot.

He fell forward right on top of his love. During the violence, the boy’s blindfold loosened a bit to reveal a pair of blue eyes, clouded and without sight.

Green met with blue, and Claude reached over to kiss those beautiful eyes goodnight.

In the night he awoke once more. Around him was his room, empty and devoid of his affections. The moon shone through his window and the only noise was that of the Fódlan winds. He felt something wet in his pants and shuddered.

But it was alright because tomorrow he would have his first council meeting as the Golden Deer’s House President. There, his love was waiting for him patiently from beyond, and Claude was not one to keep others waiting.

_The King is coming for you, my beautiful songbird. Just you wait._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so Claude isn't a good person. I hope I made that clear in Chapter 1 and 2. Honestly, he does have some humanity but I took the whole concept of his "Master Tactician" and made it 10X more twisted. 
> 
> I remembered Felix mentioning in Crimson Flower that Claude earned that nickname through "doing whatever it takes to win" or something along those lines. And then the ideas just kinda went crazy in my head. 
> 
> BTW that fun part in the forest was faintly inspired by the stupid "sand guardian, guardian of the sand." The Black Eagles quivers before him. 
> 
> Anyway, the next chapter should be out by next week or so. Follow my sad butt at https://twitter.com/Meatbike344


	4. The Eagle and The Lion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude suffers through the pains of bureaucracy; finds enemies everywhere; gets closer to his prince (Warning: mild non con NSFW at the end)

_**Lessons in Ancient Almyran Politics** _

_\- Brotherhood -_

_Perhaps the most important relationship one can have in this world is that between brothers. Not simply borne out of blood but out of oath, trust, and friendship. The promise of eternal brotherhood between two men is even more sacred than the dignities of marriage—for one is out obligation, and the other is by choice. And truly, there is no greater relationship than that forged by the sword._

_Every Almyran in the world seeks their brother. Whether it is on the battlefield or in common life. Every life is born into this world alone unless tethered to another. To cross from life to death together but the reward of everlasting life._

_Naturally, the search for one’s other half is not as simple as an arranged marriage. There are decisions in the matter, reflections on different characters, and dispositions that can either destroy or aid one in the coming years._

_Follow the heart for there can only one true person suited in this world._

The Golden Deers seemed naturally taken by Claude’s promotion as their house president; he had a pleasant disposition, was laid back, and was easily approachable and responsive, which still preserved the round table philosophy all of them wanted to keep within their house. While he adopted all of the proper authorities of a house president, he insisted that it was in name only and only needed to represent the Golden Deers in the house council. Anything they wanted, they can use him as a speaker for, and that seemed to pacify the sudden change in leadership.

Lorenz, though no one wanted to ask, was oddly demure throughout the whole change. Everyone had expected the former candidate to at least be as difficult as he could towards his rival, but he was completely submissive to Claude’s will. He nodded along to everything and rarely showed any face of disapproval.

And he was quiet—quieter than usual. He simply sat back and took everything in without any word of protest. Hilda who was expecting Claude’s underhanded victory seemed put off by Lorenz’s sudden change in demeanor. But she didn’t question anything: it was probably just a drawn-out reaction to losing the election.

Seteth, on the other hand, was not expecting Claude’s name on the president confirmation sheet that Monday morning. Not that he particularly liked Claude—he actually got somewhat attached to the sardonic boy the more sessions they had together, even if his personality was a bit much. Of course, he could not imagine anyone self stepping in as the house president or, at the very least, keeping up with the sudden responsibilities that came with the position.

It was not an easy task.

After the Monday therapy session, Seteth approached Claude with a girl he had never seen before. She was a young woman with curled green hair and a smile made of pure sugar. Claude noticed how strikingly similar she appeared to both Seteth and Lady Rhea, even with sporting the same pair of bright green eyes—a tad bit bigger like a puppy’s, almost.

“Claude, I want you to introduce you to my daughter, Flayn,” Seteth started nervously, gesturing to the petite woman beside him. She gave an excited wave in response.

“Oh Seteth,” Claude touched his heart and shook his head. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I swing for the other team.”

A sharp, thin ruler whacked the top of the young man’s head and he staggered back in mild pain. Seteth was glaring at him, frowning immensely as he crossed his arms.

“That’s not why I’m introducing you. As if I’d freely give away my daughter’s hand to any man—you’re positively joking,” he stated roughly.

“Indeed, father,” Flayn said with a nod. “Because it is not up to you—it is my choice on who to give my hand to. _Right_ , father?”

“Ah...O-Of course.” The dean suddenly seemed flustered—a far cry from his usual sharpness, and he tugged his collar loose as his gaze riveted back to Claude, somewhat nervous. It was interested to note how quickly he seemed to fall under his daughter’s words— _she’s the one in power here._

Flayn went back to her sickly sweet smile and brought her tiny hands up to shake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Claude. I’m actually the director of student affairs here at Garreg Mach,” she stated proudly.

He took the small hands into his own but gave a quizzical brow. Flayn was...nearly the size of Lysithea—a tiny thing with a round face and big eyes. He even thought she was a student at first, considering how short and delicate she appeared. To think that this small creature had an actual position here at the school. _Was it because her father is the dean?_

“I know what you are thinking. I am actually much older than I look.”

“How much older?”

She giggled without malice. “This is actually social work for my graduate program.”

_This tiny girl is a graduate student?_

“Wow, I thought---” Claude started out in awe. “That’s amazing. You must share your skincare tips with Hilda some time. I know she would just love to stay young forever.”

“Secrets, secrets,” Flayn teased playfully. “Anyway, my father told me that you were elected as the Golden Deer house president last night. Is this true?”

Claude chuckled and rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “Just about—it was not a clean victory, though.”

“It matters not. I am here to guide you through all your new duties as house president and to introduce you to Garreg Mach’s house council.”

The young man lifted a brow and frowned. He wished he had known more about the duties beforehand—Hilda had mentioned at some point of house president nearly being a full-time job, without the pay. All the information came off extremely vague as the Golden Deers apparently did not have a house president since last year’s group. Only Lysithea knew enough—at least enough to know that the house president had complete say over the laws of the house at the end of the day. A final word to end all conversation. Other than that, he came up in a blank.

“Oh Claude,” Seteth shook his head. “I hope you didn’t get voted in without knowing your expected responsibilities.”

“No, I did—I knew about the house council, at least. You’ll have to run me through all that stuff, Miss Flayn,” He admitted defeatedly.

“We will talk on the way to the conference room—that is where the other presidents are meeting. Meetings are always after your morning session so we surely must hurry,” Flayn said, tugging on his arm with a bit of strength. Her big eyes were twinkling with excitement, a clear love for a job at hand.

“Ah, sure---”

“Mr. Riegan.” Seteth was staring right at the young man, lips curled down in a warning. “You better not try anything with my daughter.”

Claude smiled back with teeth as white as a poster child. “Oh, Believe me—I wouldn’t try.”

______________________

Being the house president was harder than Claude had expected. It was not just simply being the head of the house, attending every council meeting, and taking on suggestions and moving around rules. There was a lot of behind-the-scenes work such as house dues, keeping track of the budget, tending to Garreg mach’s traditions and events, and other things. And most importantly, leading the Golden Deers down the road to recovery and rehabilitation during their one year here—that was the house president’s most important duty of all.

Claude practically had a migraine from Flayn’s explanation, which included the promise that a welcome file with all the necessary information will be provided for him back at the dorm. She stopped to catch her breath and turned around with a sad smile.

“I am sorry, Claude. I know it is a lot to take in, but you’ll get the hang of it. It is a lot like riding a bike—once you get going, it becomes instinct,” the small girl offered kindly. The wind around the blew gently and her curls swayed around her rosy cheeks. She really did resemble her father, even if he had trouble smiling.

“If you say so, little lady,” Claude said and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. He was still trying to recollect everything she had covered with him, from progress reports to house fees.

Flayn sighed and took his hand as they began walking up towards the administration building.

“Trust me: everyone gets it once they get into the swing of it. You know, it took Edelgard at least a week before she got adjusted.”

Claude’s ears perked up. “Edelgard, you say? So I’m assuming you trained both her and her brother?”

Flayn nodded earnestly. “Yes, yes! This is actually my first year as a student affairs director so I am happy that those two turned out alright!”

“From what I heard, Edelgard is the one who tends to lead the charge in the council.”

“That is a popular opinion, is it not?” She said giggling red. Claude noticed for the first time how sad her laughter was, as if her joy was actually a shield to keep others from noticing the sorrow beneath. Even now, his words seemed to have struck a sore spot in the young woman, and she looked away out towards the dormitories.

He leaned in. “Is it not true, then?”

“I would not say that it is exactly false. But I would not be so quick to assume that Dimitri has no say in the student council.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, you will see.” They reached the administration building, where Seteth and the other instructors’ offices were located. Claude remembered Lysithea dragging him here for office hours with Hanneman, which lasted until the night.

_My, can that man can talk a for days._

“Oh, and a word of warning.” Flayn turned around. A solemness imprinted on her sweet, puffy face—an apprehension unnatural for her. “Do not try and tell Edelgard that her ideas are ‘stupid’.”

Claude smiled as he discovered some money on the ground. “Oh?”

“Please, avoid it.”

Garreg Mach had a designated conference room for the student council meetings—it was a small antique room, enough for at least a study party of five with old books shacked into oak carved shelves, and a red carpet. There was an old table in the middle with three chairs on all sides, and a smart screen hung on the wall in the middle. Claude was taken back by the elegance of it all, never noticing that the door had struck something heavy.

He stopped when he heard a mild groan and peered over to see a familiar figure slumped awkwardly against the wall.

His heart raced violently.

“Oh, shit, Dimitri—Did I hit your shoulder?” Claude said, stepping back into the room.

The young man shook his head, but his hand was already clutched at the spot where his arrow wound was. He straightened up and smiled gently, as if to dismiss any worry.

“I’m fine, Claude. I should not have been standing so close to the door.” Even though it has been a week since their first meeting, Claude’s heart was still pumping like a blushing virgin, and he stared at the other boy rather intensely without a word. Dimitri cocked his head curiously. “Oh, but what are you doing here? This room is reserved for the house council.”

“You’re looking at your new member!” Flayn said suddenly, poking her head into the room. She bounced into the room and shook Claude's body excitedly. “Now we have a complete council!”

Dimitri’s blue eyes widened—twinkled in fact and he smiled with a short laugh. _The face of a God, pure and devoid of corruption_. “Wait, Claude, you got elected as the Golden Deer House President?” he asked excitedly, drawing near the boy’s face, and grabbing his hands.

Claude immediately backed up, chuckling nonchalantly as he tried to restrain the aching redness of his cheeks. “I’m here, aren’t I? Ready and present.”

There was something about feeling another person’s joy that Claude never was able to get himself adjusted to. Any positive feelings his mother and father often displayed in the past always caught their son off guard, and the usual joy of his housemates, he simply went along with a feigned, automatic smile—a perfect mask to adapt himself perfectly well into their circle. It was not so much that he couldn’t be happy, but rather, he never liked showing himself off so openly.

Claude had always kept himself at guard, at least until now. The sudden touch of Dimitri’s gloved hands on his stirred an active shock that went down his spine; the boy’s face leaned in close, arctic blue eyes shining brightly and golden locks falling so tenderly on Claude’s nose that it tickled him a bit. For him, time slowed down—-what was a second became an hour; he stared in disquieted awe as the other boy smiled, cheeks glowing warmly as though spring had come. He could not speak, paralyzed by the sudden closeness of his companion, and Dimitri began to speak.

“Oh, that is such good news. I was beginning to wonder when the Golden Deer house would elect a president for the council. Honestly, I was expecting it to be Lorenz since he was very vocal about this position. But I’m glad it was you.”

Was Dimitri always this open about his words? Everything seemed so unassuming and open with him, it gave Claude but a tinge of guilt. Just a little bit. The boy had such an innocent air to him that it was not so hard for others to feel some shame about their character. Claude never felt shame. The only thing he was feeling at this moment was a lightheartedness that never really went away.

Claude cleared his throat. “Really now? Well, that’s a shame. But I’m here now so I suppose we have our work cut out for us.”

Flayn looked around the room and frowned. “Where is your sister, Dimitri? Is she late—that is quite new for her,” she said.

Dimitri shook his head warily. “No, she just stepped out to grab some water.” He looked at Claude. “Why don’t you have a seat. I can run you by everything we have done so far—as long as you don’t mind, Flayn.”

She brought her hands up in surrender. “Of course. Claude, would you be able to follow things on from here?”

He nodded. “Hey, you go take a nice long nap, Flayn. I think I’m okay with Dimitri here.”

The young woman made a face of disapproval, but it came off as a child’s pout than the short anger of those in authority.

When she finally left the room, Dimitri closed the door behind her and gestured to the table. He appeared rather jovial, much healthier than their first meeting. He was even moving things around with his shoulder, though it was all strained movements.

And that’s when Claude realized: It was just them. In a small room, in the most isolated part of the administration building. The door was closed. Edelgard was gone. Flayn was gone. Alone. If anything were to happen, no one would hear them.

Something cold and dark stirred deeply in Claude. He sat down and tried to calm himself. _Don’t get too excited._

“You know, it’s funny. I thought I would never see you again,” Dimitri remarked as he started organizing files on the desk; he was not looking at Claude, but rather near him.

The other boy tilted his head and smiled teasingly. “Oh? And why is that? Afraid that I would come and shoot off your other shoulder?”

Dimitri laughed—- _such a beautiful, intoxicating sound_. “No, no. It’s just that other than free period and school events, the houses do not interact as much. We all basically bond in our communities. I think El is the only person I consistently see that’s not in my house.”

“Well, I’m here now.”

“That you are.” Dimitri finally looked back up to him. Strangely enough, it was not a stare of affection, though his eyes were enchanting as ever. Instead, the look Claude had received was familiar—not in a good way. It made him sick to his stomach. _Inspection._

 _Not you too. Don’t be like them. Have some trust in me_.

“What is it? Is there something on my face?” Claude asked, staring right back at the boy; this usually scares them off but Dimitri smiled instead. It was sweet and gentle, like a mother’s and a tinge of pain touched the other boy.

“No, I’m just happy I won’t be by myself from now on,” He confessed shyly and sat down across from Claude. The blue-eyed boy was generally much taller despite his good natured disposition, and his long legs briefly brushed against Claude’s.

“I guess keeping your sister at bay is a two-man job, huh?”

Dimitri shook his head. “She’s...very forward with her ideas. Most of them are really good but there are some that are worrying. As house president, you not only have to consider your house but the other houses too. Our decisions here affect everything.”

“She sure is something. A word of caution, handsome, your sis does not like me.”

“Nonsense! El is always very cold with others, but she doesn’t hate them. Besides, she’ll have to get used to all three of us working together from now on.”

Claude chuckled darkly and cracked his knuckles. “You mean, we work together against her?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Oh, but were you not thinking about it? Have no fear, I’m here now as your little safety net, my prince.”

“I-I, you’re taking things out of context.”

His heart was pumping. Everything felt hot and light—-something was swimming laps in his head. “Dimitri, you’re red,” he pointed out, half laughing.

The other boy said nothing. He buried his beautiful face, and he withdrew back into his seat. There was something about seeing Dimitri blush that stirred a bottomless, primal feeling in Claude—-but he laughed it off as usual. This was not good. He was never provoked this badly, even by Lorenz. If being around Dimitri caused him to choke up this badly, he would have to remedy it soon.

In one way or another.

“You tease too much, Claude. I hope you can keep it to yourself when El comes. She’s—-“

“She’s what?”

A chilly voice cut right through the boys’ composure and they slowly turned towards the door, at the looming shadow of a queen with perfect fashion and deep, purple eyes. The color drained from Dimitri’s face and he turned back towards his files. Claude, on the other hand, met the princess’s cruel stare head-on, even waving lazily as though he were greeting a drinking buddy.

This was the wrong move.

“Why is he here?” Edelgard asked coldly to her brother, shutting the door with her sharp heel. Bits of wood shavings landed on the carpet. _How does she walk in those?_

“He’s the president for the Golden House so he’ll be on house council.”

“This idiot? They actually voted for _him_ to be in office? Riegan?!”

“Wow.” Claude touched his heart and feigned a tears-eyed look. “I’m right here, princess.”

“Dimitri, I cannot work with this _thing_ ,” Edelgard continued without acknowledging the other boy. “You know, he traumatized Bernadette with his average-sized penis.”

_Okay, that actually hurt._

Dimitri’s face reddened and he began stuttering. “W-What? Penis?”

“He’s a fool—-I don’t work with fools.”

“Well, that’s a shame, princess,” Claude started, prompting his feet up against the table—-earning him a harsh glare from the red queen. He threw his arms over his head, leaned back, and grinned. “Because I’m the Golden Deer House president and I have just as much as a say in this council as you and your pretty-boy brother.”

Edelgard’s lips thinned to tight frown, sharp enough to cut glass. Despite how short she was, the girl somehow managed to cast a long and oppressive presence not even Claude could shake off. The two house presidents stared at each other, not willing to break away first—-a stubbornness that soon evolved into pure spite. The only sounds in the room were the far wall clock ticking and Dimitri shuffling awkwardly as he tried to re-adjust his shoulder properly. He must have moved his arm in a bad direction because the boy crumpled over his seat in pain and groaned lowly.

Edelgard and Claude broke their staring contest at once, glancing over to the Blue Lion’s house president in shared concern. Finally, the princess sighed darkly.

“Fine—-let’s get this meeting out on the way, so you can go back to the dormitory and rest, Dimitri. And you,” she said, pointing a single index finger at Claude; he lifted a brow suggestively and gestured his best Hilda impression: _Me?_

“You better stay shut and listen. I have no patience for jokers in a place of work,” Edelgard warned with a hiss and took her place near the teleprompter. Her threat, while hardly a fragile bark from a dog, was only enough to provoke a low chuckle from Claude. He was no stranger to such aggressiveness, even welcoming it from the go-about attitude of the Golden Deers. However, he even understood that she was still the powerful one here—-the king among jacks, despite Claude’s own addition. And considering everything so far, Edelgard was one to consolidate her power.

He would have to watch her carefully; that cold steel armor should have some cracks somewhere, and he would find it, sooner or later. For now, it was easier to hang low in the shadows, demure and quiet.

He had to remember what he was here for—-his pursuit of happiness.

Claude’s gaze riveted over to Dimitri, who began looking through some files. The light from the lamp bounced off his golden locks and he glowed gently like some kind of half-conscious vision of heaven. He was handsome, no doubt about that. But it was, in its entirety, the young man’s honest and pure nature—-this open trust of each and every individual without fault. He spoke from his heart, a voice of dwindling of both love and sadness. There was something darker hiding under there, under the face of antiquity. Yet it was not the same violence that overtook Claude in his moments of underhanded victory. Dimitri had something else, which he could not recognize. It was painful.

Perhaps Claude was feeling towards the by wasn’t love, for love would only be sincere and true between both people, an appreciation of everything they stand and represent together and apart——at least, that’s what Claude’s mother always said. Perhaps, this was just a passing lust, a need to hurt and corrupt something so pure—-just to leave a mark somewhere. And then leave. But at the same time, Claude couldn’t imagine leaving Garreg Mach without having Dimitri in his life.

Yet, he cannot say for sure that it was love. Not the same love that tied his family together. But it was something, nonetheless—happiness.

“Now then, why don’t we get started?”

The teleprompter flashed and Claude braced himself for the longest hour of his life.

______________________

Student council meetings ran on Mondays and Fridays—Monday after Seteth and Friday before Catherine and Shamir—An hour after torturous group therapy which always ended in an awkward group hug; an hour before actual physical torture. Claude needed to make a reminder to take some Advil before these meetings.

As he suspected before, Edelgard was the one leading the discussion; her ideas were the ones the schools always implemented and any changes made were probably because she suggested it. However, as Flayn had hinted at beforehand, the kindly young brother was not quite the pushover Claude had expected.

While Edelgard was the one pushing out the ideas and reforms by the second through a series of slides with various numbers and dates and pie charts to make a corporate man’s head spin, Dimitri was listening intensely—not so much to nod along to her ideas like some yes man, but to consider each and every idea gravely. The sweetness that often followed the boy was replaced with stark, cold professionalism—the line separating his hard sister and his soft nature beginning to blur and reveal a hidden line of semblance.

Whenever she proposed something that seemed off and extreme, Dimitri would immediately cut in and talk her down from it, usually from the concern and perspective of the student body and the school. He was the emotion, the moral to the cold rationale of Edelgard, And while she never seemed happy having shown disapproval from her brother, she relented once she understood and dropped the idea. 

And there Claude understood: Dimitri was the mediator for his sister.

He was the moral chain that kept her grounded. While he did not actively take part in the discussion, he made sure her ideas were not too extreme. And at that moment, Claude noticed something—a subtle change to the iron woman’s demeanor. She was harsh and pointed, and all things orderly and cold. That was true.

But, every time she talked, pointed out figures on her PowerPoint, her eyes immediately wandered to Dimitri in wait. It wasn’t a long glance either, short enough to return to her speech, but long enough to suggest a sort of want for support. When she talked, he listened; when he talked, she listened. The two siblings seemed to bounce off each other in harmony, with Claude merely being an observer from the outside.

 _So this was their system_ , Claude thought as he watched the intense look on Edelgard’s face to Dimitri’s quiet regard.

After a while, the topic eventually arrived to Capture the Flag—which Claude, who has not spoken throughout the whole meeting, interrupted the iron princess’ strange drawings of a field with a question:

“Why exactly are we talking about Capture the Flag?” He asked.

Edelgard stopped and frowned at him. Claude could just hear her mind: stupid question— _how do you not know? Why were you even elected as house president without knowing this beforehand?_

“What a stupid question. How do you not know? Why would they elect a house president who knows not of our traditions?”

_Called it._

“El, Claude arrived at the beginning of the month. You can’t blame him,” Dimitri defended, bringing a surge of mirth to the other boy’s heart.

Edelgard gritted her teeth and turned back towards the PowerPoint. “That’s no excuse, but listen up. Capture the Flag is a tradition that dates back to the opening of Garreg Mach decades ago. Where all three houses get together on Gronder field and try to capture each other’s flags. It’s basically an accumulation of all the team building, house bonding, and group therapy, with the house presidents leading the charge. While the event is indeed competitive, the point of Capture the Flag is to rehabilitate through teamwork, and as house presidents, we are responsible for making sure our houses work well with each other, and to tackle obstacles head-on.”

Claude whistled. “Ain’t that intense. When does this thing even throw down?”

“Next month since we have the ball coming up soon. So everyone has proper time to prepare,” Dimitri said rather serious. His eyes were glazed over, deep in thought. “Every year the rules get adjusted a bit, but the requirements for victory are generally the same: one house needs both flags from the other two houses. It doesn’t matter how they get it—they just need both.”

_So the methods are limitless._

“Dimitri, maybe you should sit out the game—I doubt your _arrow wound_ would properly heal by then,” Edelgard suggested but stared straight at Claude, even narrowing her eyes in accusation.

The brother shook his head stubbornly. “No, I’ll get better by then, believe me. Why don’t we just move the topic of Capture the Flag to this Friday. I’m getting a headache.”

“What’s there to even talk about? It’s just a game,” Claude pointed out.

“I was suggesting that we should cancel the ball this month so we can focus more on group therapy and house bonding,” Edelgard said. “Refocus our efforts in stabilizing our own houses. Such leisures aren’t necessary.”

“El...”

“Oh.” Claude frowned and said without thinking, “Well, that’s just stupid.”

After a suffocating moment of silence, Edelgard simply said, “...Stupid.”

Dimitri stood up suddenly, his chair being pushed back violently against the bookshelf with a clatter. The boy had a nervous frown plastered on his face, figurative chills over his body as he stared intently at the two. “I think this is a good time to stop, right? I‘ ll see you both on Friday!”

Before Claude could get a word in, the boy strutted out the room in a burst of renewed energy. His sister, on the other hand, stared at the Golden Deer house president blankly. There was no anger shone on her face, just a cold apathy that Claude himself knew personally. He was nothing to her as she was to him. Perhaps some shit stuck under the heel of her shoe—and now it’s simply there to stay. After a while, she turned off the teleprompter and took off without a farewell. Claude never existed in the first place.

It was his first student council meeting and Claude was already enemies with the president. _Don’t make waves on your first day_ , he often told himself. How tragic it was that he could never follow his own advice sometimes.

—————————

The week went on without much fanfare.

Classes went by slowly, perhaps even more so for the Golden Deer house president. He was noticeably distant, distracted by an unknown thought that invaded his mind. Too often did he awake from his daydreaming by Hilda poking a sharp pencil to his arm playfully. He even somehow managed to survive a class with Hanneman by drifting off alone—-and stayed for another half hour without realizing that his house had left him behind.

It was strange, how he failed to understand his own sudden drop in energy. There was hesitation to face the day, and a sluggishness that followed everywhere he went. He even slower than Linhardt at walking at this point.

“What’s with you, lately?” Hilda huffed once they got back to the Golden Deer dorms. Claude threw himself against the couch and groaned into the pillow loudly. She propped herself on his back and patted his head in a scolding manner. “Come now, mister. Tell big sister what’s aching you.”

“As if you care,” Claude’s tired voice came out muffled from the pillow, like some angsty teenage daughter after a fight.

Hilda ran her fingers through his hair and leaned into his ear. “Come on, don’t be like that. I give good advice...sometimes. I’m like a roulette wheel—-you just gotta give me a spin.”

“Alright miss roulette.” He turned himself around so he could catch her curious gaze. “I have student council tomorrow.”

“Ohhh, is it Edelgard?”

He laughed softly. “You’re right—-she’s not easy. I feel like every Monday and Friday are going to be absolutely torturous for me.”

“You’re never one to give up so easily, Claude.”

“Have you spent an hour with her?”

He saw the corner of Hilda’s mouth dipped and she turned away, throwing one leg over the other in a physical pout. The girl was always so expressive that it was easy to read her off immediately yet, she somehow managed to keep some details to herself. Though her active hatred of Edelgard was something she couldn’t hide regardless.

“She proposed to have the ball canceled so the houses have more time to ‘bond’ and do more group work with Seteth.”

“Claude, you can’t let her do that!” Hilda wailed. “That ball is one of the few times we get to really hang back and get loose. I think I’ll go crazy if Marianne and I can’t show off the new dresses we ordered.”

“Are they slutty?”

She laughed out. “Mine is, at least. I need to show off the goods, mister president.”

Claude sighed into the pillow—-it smelled suspiciously a lot like Raphael’s chicken wings and his stomach growled. “What am I supposed to do? Her abominable will is literally stealing away my drive.”

“Dimitri’s on the council, isn’t he? Why don’t you just go talk to him about it—-a secret alliance of some sort. It’s really impossible to face her alone,” Hilda stopped and patted the boy’s side where his stomach was, a grin burning into his shoulder. “And maybe grab some food while you’re at it.”

The fog in Claude’s in suddenly cleared from Hilda’s words and he shot up, sending the other girl rolling to the end of the couch. She gave a cry of annoyance, but Claude ignored it as he took her shoulders and leaned in close with an excited, dazzling expression.

“Hilda, thank you! I think I know what to do,” he exclaimed, green eyes wide with a million different energies going off at once. He then jumped off and raced out of the dorm so quickly that the door swung around a bit before nestling lazily against the frame.

Hilda stayed very still, processing what exactly had happened before straightening her hair back and sighing into the couch.

“He’s only lucky that my wheel spin ended up in the green. Otherwise, I would have said that he should just kill Edelgard,” the pink-haired beauty joked under her breath, not realizing that for the first time since she arrived in Garreg Mach, her usual ability to read people was severely screwed left towards the red.

______________________

Northern Fódlan was another country: that region existed on a different plane, with its own set of rules, traditions, and values that separated them from the rest of Fódlan.

Naturally, the Blue Lions were different—-isolated from the rest of Garreg Mach. Their dormitory house was located in the very north of the school grounds, right up against the towering aspen like some cabin in the woods. For some reason, the sun rarely touched upon the area due to the trees so it was just a strange intermingling between dusk and evening.

Claude felt cold just from crossing the border over here. He could not imagine how freezing this part of Garreg Mach will feel once the colder seasons settle in. The Blue Lions dormitory was—-unlike the Golden Deer which was a colorful frat house of constant music in the middle of a Gothic, dreary school—was this elegant Nordic house with black timber and dark stones. It stood against the chilly rain-gray sky like a country parish of an isolated village. Claude could not help but shivered when he go up to the house.

There was no color. No sunlight or life. Just perpetual wet darkness that rejected all forms of warmth.

_How could someone like Dimitri live here?_

Claude bent down and touched the wet, blue-green grass. It seemed like it rained quite recently, and yet, over by the Golden Deer Dormitory, it was sunny all week. Strange how selective the weather at Garreg Mach seems to be.

As he inspected the area, something large fell with a crash beside him. Parts of a machine scattered all around him with panels, glass, and wires. Claude merely blinked before standing back up and looking around.

There was an open window on the second floor, with a monstrous amount of noise. After a second, a head of red hair poked out and peered out over the lawn. The sight of the broken machine upon the grass issued an exasperated cry from the boy and he groaned.

“Ingrid, the damn printer fell out of the window—oh,” the redhead caught the bemused gaze of Claude. A grin broke out and he leaned into his arm. “Hey, you’re the Stag King.”

“Whoa, where did you hear that from?”

“A little bird told me. You’re one bold bastard, aren’t you?” The smile on this boy was dangerous—-not so much of a threat but an active jester nonetheless. One who probably found solace in the improper. Someone like this at the Blue Lion House made Claude feel a bit more comfortable, and he stepped up with his arms to his hips.

“And you-you're that boy from the stables. I was riding with Marianne that day,” he said.

The red head’s warm eyes widened in recognition. “Oh yeah! Small world, huh? The name’s Sylvain by the way!”

Claude tilted his head. “Ah, you’re the school slut.”

The other boy’s smile faltered slightly and he rubbed the back of his head nervously. “Come on, dude. My house gives me enough shit as it is,” he whined.

“Sorry, sorry,” Claude reassured with a light-hearted laugh. He wiped the wetness from his eyes and peered up at the red-head, who was watching him placidly.

“So, what do we owe the pleasure?” Sylvain asked. “It’s not every day that a house president visits—-not even Edelgard comes here.”

_Finally, some good news._

Claude sighed. “I’m here to see Dimitri if he’s here.”

“The chief’s always here. Head right on inside—his room is upstairs and to the right.”

“Thanks, man—“

“Wait. If a pretty dude with dark hair asks, just say I let you inside,” Sylvain warned, winking. He then slipped back inside and the noises of heavy furniture moving continued as quickly as it began.

Claude waited a bit to readjust to the stark coldness all around him and then headed on inside, trying his best to bury the aching pain deep in his stomach. He should have come with Hilda or Marianne or anyone for the matter.

A stag wandering into the Lion’s den was practically suicide. At least some of them seemed friendly enough.

Only some.

______________________

The first thing Claude noticed about the Blue Lions common room was how all the lights were off. Only the faint gray light of the sky shone through the windows, and even then, the shadows were prevalent as it veiled everything in a dimness that was gentle on the eyes.

Claude cautiously stepped inside and looked all around. Unlike the Golden Deer common room, which was always filled with multicolored bean bags, the sound of video games playing, and random plates of half-eaten food all over the place, the common room here was practically a high-end lounge. There was a grand piano in the corner of the room, an elegant bar with some ice buckets, a smoking room (though Claude doubted any of the students here were old enough to smoke), and a kitchen with the faint smell of baked goods. Even the carpet looked expensive.

He ran his hand around the island and peered all around. This was impressive, how luxurious this house had it. Perhaps this was where the majority of the trust fund kids were, though Claude still didn’t know much about any of the students’ reputation outside of Hilda’s scary brother, Lorenz’s father, and Edelgard’s former president father.

Then he stopped.

Would that not mean that Dimitri was the president’s son as well since he was Edelgard’s brother?

Claude nearly had a panic attack had it not been for the cutting voice that interrupted his thoughts. The voice was low, but its edge was sharp enough to cause the boy to stop like a deer in the middle of a hunt. He turned around but saw no one. The darkness concealed everything and all Claude saw was an empty common room and the constant click of a grandfather clock.

 _Maybe it was just my imagination_ —

“What are you doing here?”

The cold voice cut once again and Claude’s head whirled out towards the edge of the smoking-room. He had not noticed it before but there was a lone figure sitting on the sofa. They were bent over, sharpening what appeared to be a long sword on their legs. Their eyes hadn’t moved from the weapon but this person knew Claude was there—-knew where he was standing and feeling. They probably could hear how heavily his heart was beating, one last burst of energy before the run of death. But neither of them moved.

“I’m here to see Dimitri,” Claude replied simply, honestly.

“Why?”

The question threw him off. Why? Of course, he could have answered that he wanted to discuss things for tomorrow’s meeting but the figure’s question was not alluding to that. For some unexplained reason, the accusation seemed personal, as though they were asking why Claude actively sought out Dimitri. It took a while before Claude realized that while the voice was unfriendly and cold, it had a strange tinge of protectiveness to it. Wariness. Fear.

_Fear?_

Claude could not help but smile. Why was the voice scared of him?

“I’m the house president of the Golden Deer house. I thought I could run some things with him for tomorrow.”

“He’s resting.”

Go away, is what that meant. Unfortunately, Claude had decided in that moment to ignore underlying messages.

“It’ll only be for a sec—“

“Don’t go upstairs.” They did not yell. Their irritation was tranquil and low. But the sudden sharpness like the edges of a diamond cut into Claude deeply and he turned to see that the figure had stopped sharpening the sword. They were staring near him—towards the wall, glowing eyes of amber like the sunset.

But sunsets were beautiful and calming. These eyes made him feel violent for some reason.

Claude sneered a bit and raised a brow in challenge. “Sylvain said it was fine.”

The sunset eyes of hatred narrowed thinly. “And you believed that idiot? He brings anyone into this house just for a night of fun. And you’re not going upstairs.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I know you.”

There it was. Claude always kept his guard up, his mask secured tightly in the world of lurking faces aiming to expose him. And so far, no one in all of Garreg Mach could make sense of Claude’s presence. No one knew why he was here and only recognized him as the grandson of some big laptop company. But no such reputation had followed him from the land of the sun.

He left everything behind when _Khalid_ died.

Claude’s knuckles cracked beside him and he smiled with teeth at the figure. Why was it that there were so many people here trying to make things hard for him? Why couldn’t everyone just be unassuming like actual teenagers? First Lorenz, second Edelgard, and now this asshole? Claude’s patience was waning thin.

“Know me?” He laughed. “We haven’t even met yet?”

“I don’t need to. I know your eyes. That’s all I need to know.”

_Eyes? So that’s what he meant._

“No offense, but you can’t just go around and judge people by their eyes. I could be a good person,” Claude suggested.

“But you’re not.”

“And why do you say that?”

“Because you’re here.” The voice trailed off, a thought that overtaken itself. “No one good is dropped off at Garreg Mach.”

“Even Dimitri?”

The eyes glowered darkly. “You don’t know him. Not like I do—stay away from him and we won’t have a problem.”

Claude brushed off the threat and began heading towards the stairs. He hardly needed to contest with Dimitri’s housemates when Sylvain said it was fine. He knew how the law worked. He already had the friendly to-go, and he didn’t need the Blue Lions’ personal gatekeeper to—

It missed him by an inch.

He stared at his own reflection, wavering and twisting quickly upon the sheen of a sword thrown cleanly into the wall right in front of him. The boy took a second to take in what just happened, and another second to watch as a hand reached out and pulled the sword out.

That hand belonged to a boy with pale skin and long raven hair, which was pulled up into a bun. Just like before, his gaze was not direct—it was off to the side but it was strong enough to paralyze Claude in one place. It was only a tragedy that this creature stood an inch shorter than him and was thin as a board.

“I said, don’t go upstairs,” the boy warned again, his voice tight with anger. “You don’t belong here. Go back to the woods and rut somewhere else.”

“I’m not dangerous—I’m here as a friend.” Claude smiled. “What are you afraid of? That I’ll hurt your little prince? Take him over while he’s sleeping?”

“You—“

“Felix, what’s wrong?”

A gentle voice called out from the top of the staircase and the two boys looked up to see the half-sleeping face of Dimitri peering down at them. His uniform was off to reveal a bare torso, with bandages wrapped securely around his shoulder. Even in the darkness, Claude could make out the outlines off the boy’s lean muscular frame, and his throat tightened. Dimitri’s eyes blinked the sight before him into clarity and stared wide-eyed at the Golden Deer house president.

There was that smile.

“Oh Claude, did you come to visit me?”

“That I did, my lion. And _Felix_ here was just letting me by, right?” Claude said sweetly and stared right at the raven-haired boy. Surprisingly, Felix finally stared back, and the absolute hatred in his eyes was the only answer Claude needed. He scoffed angrily, brought his sword to his side, and violently bumped shoulders with Claude as he went out of the house. The door slammed loudly, sending echoes into the empty house and Dimitri sighed.

“Please don’t mind him,” he said with a soft smile. “Come upstairs to my room! I’ll move some stuff around for you.”

“Of course, thank you,” Claude replied with a gracious smile. And yet, he could not shake the thrill that came over him, the same feeling he felt when Lorenz got down on his knees.

This small victory just for him. At the same time, his encounter with Felix meant something else. It was in the same sense the night he bumped into Edelgard on his way to confession: an obstacle. A threat. If anything, Felix wouldn’t be the last either.

Claude will have to watch himself more carefully from now on.

______________________

Dimitri was the not the only one upstairs; the open room with the lights and loud sounds belonged to Sylvain, but the friendly redhead and the blonde girl Claude remembered from the stables had passed the pair in the hallway, announcing their intent for lunch. The blonde promised to bring Dimitri back something while Sylvain winked at Claude.

So far, he really liked the laid back red-headed boy. Especially more than Felix.

Dimitri’s room was surprisingly homey. As though the boy had brought most of his personal possessions from home and placed it all here. His room was warm, warmer than the rest of the house, with winter coats hanging from a mini rack, heavy blankets on the bed, and a humidifier by the frosted window. There was a broken baseball bat leaning against the wall, a hamper with clothes, and a desk covered in medical supplies. Claude nearly tripped on a shawl thrown carelessly near the door, which Dimitri picked up sheepishly.

“Sorry, this belongs to one of my housemates. She was helping me with my bandages earlier,” he explained, laying it over his chair. The tight wrapping around Dimitri’s shoulder looked tight and fresh, clearly done by a skilled hand aside from Manuela.

Claude frowned; to think that his arrow caused this much pain for the boy, though he should have expected as much. No one liked to be pinned to a tree very much.

“Make yourself at home—Sorry about the mess. It’s still hard for me to move things around.” Dimitri lowered himself onto the bed slowly, right over the pile of blankets he had nestled there; he patted to a clear spot beside him and smiled—-my fucking heart, stop looking at me that way. “Do you want to sit?”

“I’m fine here,” Claude said strained, as he sat back against the desk chair facing the boy—like Seteth whenever he wanted to ‘appeal to the youth’ during group therapy.

Dimitri nodded along and his heart surged painfully.

This was dangerous—it was just the both of them, alone, in the Blue Lions dormitory. And as he had always expected, the Blue Lions house president was too naive and unassuming; had it been the other way around, Claude would have suggested for them to talk outside or somewhere where there were people around. Not to invite someone in your room when your house was completely empty. What if Claude wanted to murder him? What if he was an assassin? Even now, he was completely at guard while his golden god sat like a carefree child—surrounded in warm, fluffy blankets, and staring back at a stranger without assumption. It made it worse by the fact that he was shirtless save for his bandages. Claude kept his eye level straight but it was hard with the meal that’s practically being waved around in front of him.

“I never imagined you would visit me, Claude. Was there something you needed?” Dimitri asked.

“The student council meeting tomorrow, I wanted to ask you some things,” Claude replied in a rare show of professionalism. That is why he was here, but this was an opportunity he simply couldn’t throw away for just information about work. But he needed to get Dimitri talking.

“Ah, sure—-go ahead. I’ll try my best though I won’t be as useful as my sister.”

“Exactly what I wanted to ask you: don’t you ever try proposing some of your ideas? I mean, it sounds like you just veto any crazy she comes up with.”

“Oh.” Dimitri sounded hurt but he gave a gentle smile. “I don’t really have any good ideas. Edelgard comes up with everything—-I just keep the peace.”

“Really? None at all? Absolutely nothing?” Claude pushed on.

The boy squirmed a bit and touched the invisible wound on the shoulder—-an unconscious move at this point; it must have made him feel safe somehow. “I mean...I had some. But Edelgard never liked them so I never brought it up again.”

“Right, because meditating her ideas is one thing, but when it comes to you, it’s hard to argue with her.” Claude lifted a brow. “Did I hit the mark?”

“I never said you were right.”

“But you never said I was wrong either.” He smiled. “No offense, my lion, you’re way too easy to read. No wonder why she can dominate you.”

Dimitri’s cheeks reddened. How beautiful he was when he was openly overcome with emotion. Claude’s fingers twitched and he resisted the urge to reach out and touch the flustered boy. Instead, he gripped the edge of the chair and smiled.

“But I’m here with a solution.”

Dimitri’s bright blue eyes twinkled and he lifted a brow. “A solution?”

“Yes, yes—a deal of some sort.” Claude leaned in. “You and I strike a secret alliance.”

“I-I can’t imagine going against El, though.”

“Yeah, well, what if I have an idea and she shoots it down. There needs to be some balance in the council, Dimitri. This whole mediator thing you got going is good and all, but you’re a house president yourself—-you have every right to convey your own laws too,” Claude explained solemnly, watching the slow realization wash over Dimitri. “And honestly, Edelgard hates me. She’ll never support anything I say unless you do.”

“So you want to an alliance between us, where we support one another in the council meetings?” Dimitri asked, the tone of hesitation leaving his voice.

Claude nodded along very slowly and grinned like a love-stricken fool. He always had a thing for the softer boys. “Exactly—-if you have a proposal, I’ll vouch for you if Edelgard turns it down. And you’ll help me since the princess absolutely hates my guts. It’s a good partnership, don’t you say?”

“It...yes, It does. Yes, I think this could work.”

“Deal?”

Claude’s twitching hand reached out across the small space between them. Dimitri stared at it, hesitantly, before lifting up his good arm and clasping it. The other boy’s hand was oddly cold, like ice, yet his skin was smooth and everything felt warm and fuzzy for Claude. He didn’t even mind when Dimitri’s gripped proved to be a bit strong for his liking and the two boys shook with a shared smile.

Then the thunder came. Claude froze and looked out towards the window; it had begun to violently rain, with droplets rattling harshly against the glass. The boys gawked at the sight and Dimitri cleared his throat sheepishly.

“I guess you’ll have to stay a bit longer, Claude,” he said, clearly pleased with the company. He was so open with his emotions, it was genuinely hard for Claude to believe he was able to survive this long at Garreg Mach.

“It’s fine—-I was planning too anyway.” He leaned forward with an intense gaze. “I honestly wanted to get to know more about you, Dimitri.”

“Me? I’m not very interesting, you know.”

“Try me.”

The young man seemed taken back by the ferocity of Claude’s will that he cuddled up a bit into the blankets and stared off somewhere else.

He was thinking, which was an oddity to Claude so far—-no one in Garreg Mach thought twice than to tell the inquisitive man to shut up. People kept everything to themselves with reason, and he couldn’t blame them.

As if he will ever talk about _them_. But then Dimitri said something that took him off guard—a moment of shock that he could not shake off.

“Will you tell me about yourself?”

“Me? I-I don’t have a lot of stories to share.”

Dimitri shook his head. “That’s unbelievable. I feel like you have hundreds of tales to tell.”

“And why do you say that?”

“Because you’re...interesting. You’re an enigma, honestly.” Dimitri sat back with a low gaze. “And after you shot me in the shoulder from a hundred feet away, I think I’m owed some information.”

“Dimitri...”

“Aren’t we allies? Shouldn’t we know things about each other to build trust?”

So that’s how it is. To think that this innocent young man would have the savvy to turn Claude’s game against him—-with those soft begging eyes, no less! Perhaps Claude had underestimated him; Dimitri clearly knew what he was doing. And yet, he could not help himself but chuckle out loud when Dimitri presented this idea. He leaned in close to stare at the boy and smirked, impressed.

“Well, yes, that’s certainly a vital part of any alliance. Trust. Fine—I’ll tell you a little bit about old me. But I need some information back. This relationship is a two-way street, after all.”

Dimitri nodded eagerly and scooted forward, the space between them getting smaller—Claude could even reach out and run his hands down the boy’s neck if he liked. Not that he would dare it now.

“What do you want to know?” He asked and his companion thought about it briefly.

“Your grandfather is the head of Riegan industries, right? Would that mean that you’re his heir?”

Claude shook his head. “I wasn’t groomed to take over the company. Hell, I only met him this year, actually. My uncle is in line to inherit the title once my grandfather retires,” he said honestly.

“You only met him this year?” 

“Uh, yes.” _Crap, I should not have said that_. “I lived with my parents so I never got the chance—you know? My mother didn’t want to be dependent on her father’s wealth so I never met him until now.”

Dimitri’s face brightened with open admiration and Claude felt another heart attack coming on.

“That’s very admirable—your mother I mean. My life has always been cared for, that it shames me to think about how fortunate I am to compared to others.”

“That’s understandable,” Claude leaned forward. “You’re the late president’s son, right.”

Claude was taking a chance, assuming he was Edelgard’s brother. But then the boy’s warm face drained of all color and emotion, and he choked a bit—that suggested enough.

“I-you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to—“

“No, it’s fine,” Dimitri muttered, peering down at his arm. “It’s basically public knowledge at this point.”

_Not to me, it isn’t._

“Both you and Edelgard...it must have been hard. If you don’t mind me asking—-how did he die? I, uh, lived somewhere else for a bit so the news never reached me.”

“Ah...” The blue-eyed boy blinked a bit and stared off at the wall beyond Claude’s head. “Car bomb.”

“Oh.” _By the one and only Goddess_. “That’s fucking terrible.”

“We were set for a diplomatic talk in Duscur,” Dimitri continued in a trance. “I-it exploded before we could even leave the lot.”

“We? No—you’re not telling me that you were...” He stopped. Something ticked painfully in his heart. He felt bottomless again, swirling around in the darkness.

Dimitri only smiled sadly and said nothing more. But he didn’t need to say more—-Claude already knew.

He sat back with a sigh. This was bad. Sure, it must have been pretty well known of the president’s death. Dimitri didn’t need to hide anything. But then, again, he didn’t need to tell him.

“And Edelgard, she—“

He shook his head. “At home with our uncle.”

Uncle. The one she may have killed.

But Claude cautioned himself——it would be too much for Dimitri to handle if he started assaulting him with that many questions. And yet, Dimitri continued, somewhat more relaxed than before.

“My sister and I...we always been together. I’m sincerely happy she wasn’t there when it happened. I don’t think I could live with myself if I lost her,” he said lowly, drifting off somewhere far.

And yet, Edelgard was a problem. Perhaps a problem that should be dealt with last.

Claude shook his head. “And yet, you both somehow ended up here together? Did you follow her or...”

Dimitri blinked. “No, actually, she followed me here.”

 _What?_ He almost laughed. Almost. But the blank look on Dimitri’s face erased any sort of humor lying in his throat. _Holy shit, he was being serious._

“You were sent here first? What the fuck, why?” He rambled without thinking; he was still trying to process everything, like the fact that Edelgard was only here for her brother.

Dimitri smiled and cocked his head. “Oh, but Claude, didn’t you say that this relationship was a two-way street?”

_Shit, you crafty little bastard._

“I don’t know if I have anything as...traumatic as you have,” _Why am I lying to him?_ “But I’ll answer anything you ask of me.” _Not everything——he doesn’t need to know everything._

“You mentioned that you lived somewhere else. Did you, perhaps, lived outside of Fódlan?” Dimitri asked hesitantly.

“Uh, yes—it’s not a well-known fact, but my mother met my father in Almyra. I, uh, lived there for most of my life,” Claude stuttered. It was not that big of a secret—-the tech papers even covered the marriage years ago when Claude’s mother moved permanently to Almyra after she was disowned by her father. However, everyone has since forgotten about the whole affair and Claude found it safer to just keep his mouth——Almyran immigrants were still a sore subject for this country, especially considering Hilda’s brother.

His companion nodded. “Ah, that makes more sense now.”

“Why did you say that?”

“The first day we met, you didn’t seem to react very strongly when I told you my full name—not that I expected you to, but most people only recognize me because of my father,” he smiled lightly. “Honestly, I had expected as much. And then you went ahead and called my sisters’ ideas ‘stupid’ and that’s when I knew for sure.”

Claude frowned. “Hah. I guess I should have tried harder to read up more on the country before I arrived.”

_It’s not my fault—I didn’t want to come to this damn nation in the first place._

“You’re not missing out much,” Dimitri said. “But you seem uncomfortable. Do you want me to keep this a secret, Claude? I promise you this will stay between us.”

“As if this will stop people from looking at me weirdly. I’m already seen as an outsider anyway. I wasn’t wanted in Almyra, I wasn’t wanted by my own family, and now I’m not wanted here. I’ll admit it: the game was stacked against me from the beginning.”

Dimitri shook his head. A forlorn sadness washed over his face, nearly akin to Marianne’s usual disposition. “Don’t say such terrible things, Claude. Even if you think you are not wanted, you are. I, for one, am very happy I met you.” He stared rather faintly at Claude, a light redness touched his cheeks. “I’m actually really thrilled you came to see me today.”

It was not a lax statement. The long and awaited look the young man gave to Claude shown a solemness that was not so usual for the students here. Everyone was so used to their own atmosphere that Claude was merely a visitor—a tourist, in their little world. He hadn't much in the way of confidants, other than Hilda. Even then, that girl was an enigma on her own.

Then there was Dimitri.

He was gazing at Claude with hazy blue eyes, cheeks somewhat red from the warmth of the room; the lad was not wearing a shirt—-which Claude realized once again, when his gaze riveted down to the bare body before him. Dimitri was much taller than Claude, bigger probably, with all that lean muscle under the softness of his pale skin, and the thin imprints of abs shone under the light. His golden locks were wet with sleep sweat, clinging to his forehead. He was devastatingly beautiful, unaware of the dangerous effect he was having on Claude.

And Claude’s eyes wandered over the boy’s nipples.

_Just like the dream._

He bit his tongue until he tasted blood. He was better than this—-he knew that.

_Patience. Patience. Not like this._

Claude suddenly stood up, nearly knocking the desk chair over, and startling Dimitri in the process. He was laughing—laughing to distract himself from all the thoughts that pulsed in his head, from the rushing of his own blood to his head. He can’t be here anymore—every minute being in this room was draining his self-control. This could get dangerous if he didn’t leave now.

“I think it’s about time I leave,” Claude said nervously. “Thank you for your time, Dimitri. I’ll let you get your rest now—“

“Wait,” Dimitri called out and actually grabbed Claude’s loose hand; the touch of his icy fingers made the boy shivered. “You should wait out the storm. The rains here are very violent—just take a look outside.”

“Do you have a raincoat? Maybe a poncho? Anything?”

“Claude, I don’t think you should be going outside at all.” He tried pushing himself off from the bed, but his shoulder stiffened and he laid back down. His hand still hung onto Claude’s, however. “I am utterly serious when I say that it is dangerous. You should wait for a bit.”

Claude’s breath shuddered. “How long is a bit?”

“Maybe half an hour. An hour. Considering how hard it is raining outside, it should stop soon. For now, stay inside.” Dimitri let go and leaned back against the bed. “Do you want to sit next to me? We can talk some more.”

At this point, images began to blur across Claude’s sight, moving slowly in an array of colors. He was losing his breath in a room that was not his own, in a house that does not love him, with a boy that does not know of the dangerous infatuation that threatens him. Everything was hot and suffocating—the windows practically fogged up from the boy’s hyperventilation.

“N-No, I should...”

Claude never finished. Instead, he slowly lowered himself on the bed, right next to Dimitri who seemed pleased by the compliance. Their knees touched and Claude stared straight ahead as Dimitri began to distract him with some stories. The rain pounding and rattling the windowpane, the wind outside howling.

Dimitri had miscalculated. The downpour lasted the whole night. 

But he never noticed. He merely sat on the bed, recounting the different things in his life—mostly about his house.

Felix, Sylvain, and the blonde girl named Ingrid were his childhood friends; Sylvain was like a big brother to them, even if he distracted Dimitri in the middle of the night from his conquests. The angry raven-haired boy named Felix had a sharp tongue and took Kendo, but he really cared even if he could never admit to it. Ingrid was sturdy and responsible and mothered Dimitri too much. A girl named Annette—Lysithea had mentioned her before—had a tendency to blow up the common room kitchen and the school labs. Ashe was everyone’s little brother, a sweet little boy who enjoyed botany and cooking. Mercedes, the one who patched Dimitri’s shoulder, was the mother of the house—-a glowing saint with the patience of the goddess. Dedue, whom Dimitri has spoken with the most affection, was his best friend, a young man with little words and an endless heart.

A family. His family. The boy’s words of absolute love sounding like a lullaby between the splatters of raindrops on the window. His face was warm and distant, recounting a memory he was living through now.

Then he talked about Edelgard. Cruel, cold, stern Edelgard. The princess without a heart, made of steel and ice. Dimitri’s words spun a different story: a protective sister who was hurt too much by life and protected the remnants of her family with a dagger. He loved her; she loved him, even if her words stung. They were each other’s halves—could not exist without the other.

When the night came and the rain silenced, Dimitri had passed out against Claude’s shoulder. He had not moved since sitting down.

Claude slowly got up and lifted the boy gently onto the bed, snuggled up with his pile of heavy blankets. He stared at the sleeping body for the longest time; dark, green eyes scanning all along the pale skin, his perfect frame, and beautiful face—closed off in a gentle slumber like a cursed princess in eternal sleep. Moving softly with breath.

There it was, that strained _tightness_. That darkness scratching lines down the inside of his throat. That heat that engulfed his core.

Claude ran his hand down from Dimitri’s throat to his stomach; his fingernails caressing the skin, a scientist in deep inspection of a prized creature, a collector with a priceless vase. The boy shivered but he did not stir.

With the other hand and a slightly heated gasp, he pulled out his cock, practically twitching from the last hour. It was already hard, dripping with precum; Claude began to stroke, his eyes, dark with lust, strained tightly on the sleeping face of his love. Everything was slick, hot, and wet, as he felt a dull fire build gradually against his heat. It was pushing up against his cock, as he quickened his pace, hand shivering with anticipation—-impatience.

A room once filled with the noises of rainfall was replaced with deep grunts as the fire nearly threw itself against Claude’s pained cock and he went white; hot ribbons of cum shot out, landing all over Dimitri’s face and hair. He bit his lips bloody to restrain a cry, spraying the last remainder over the sleeping boy’s pink cheeks.

Then everything went cold. Everything loosened and fell away to an empty release. Claude was panting, bent over on the bed, over the sleeping figure. He smiled foolishly and leaned in to capture those lips in a light, controlled kiss.

 _The goddess had blessed me with a heavy sleeper for a lover_.

Claude cleaned up the mess he had made with a careful hand as to not wake the boy. The entire time, he could not help but smile so widely that it stung the edge of his cheeks. Once things were all set in done, he placed a kiss to Dimitri’s cheek, turned off the lights, and headed out.

The Blue Lions House was always dark and cold, especially in the night where the forests were wet and the mist began to settle in from the outside. Downstairs, Claude caught the sheen of a blade, hiding in the darkness.

The sunset-eyed gatekeeper greeted him directly this time with a threat: “Don’t come back here again.” And it waited and watched as Claude gave a nonchalant wave—a hidden smirk in the darkness—and went out the door.

The woods were pitch black. The grass was wet. The mist had piled in and shrouded the area in a thick whiteness that betrayed the human eye. Claude took an hour to find his way back to the sunny hill of the Golden Deer house. Someone left the kitchen lights on in the kitchen. Claude fell back against the couch and passed over into a well-needed sleep.

That night, he dreamed again:

An empty throne ready for a king.

Strong hands wrapped tightly around the throat of the princess.

The raven-haired swordsman hanging somewhere from the trees.

A sleeping prince waiting in the darkness.

_Don’t keep them waiting._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Patrick Warburton's voice* - "oh yeah it's all coming together"
> 
> This work will only have ten chapters (it's a part of a series so there will be more)  
> I will update weekly so follow me for updates at https://twitter.com/Meatbike344


	5. The Autumn Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude gets wild with the girls; reluctantly finds common ground with an enemy; finally tastes his desires 
> 
> (Warning: drug use and non-con kiss)

_**Lessons in Ancient Almyran Politics** _

_-Courtship-_

_Courting in Almyra is as complicated as a wyvern’s dance of love—every step is as important as the last and any mistake will ruin the entire process._

_Proceed with caution for our women are seldom as submissive to the wills of their father as our pale neighbors—they demand much more than title and cold gifts of stones and flowers._

_Many demand tribute through blood, through action. Suitor are expected to show their dedication through a series of tasks for a grievance journey is proof of strength. One should be so fortunate if they only request blood sport._

_Anything else is a true test of character._

Claude’s secret alliance bore fruit; when the Golden Deer house president offered up the option to keep the Autumn Ball this month in the face of Edelgard, her brother had supported the notion to her surprise.

There was nothing she could do to a 2-1 vote. But the girl, through her shock, recognized the sudden shift of power before her and stared at Claude—trying to figure him out. It was only a tragedy that she didn’t catch the secret smile the two boys shared from across the table.

The Autumn Ball was set for the end of this month.

The Golden Deers took to the news with rapture; Hilda was practically glowing, for more so than usual. The General daughter would not stop talking about the dress party she had planned with the girls. She even, somehow, convinced Leonie to go along with the idea. And of course, the pink-haired beauty made it exceptionally clear that Claude must show up.

As house president, he had an active duty to attend all events, of course.

Meanwhile, Raphael had planned for a ‘pre-eat’ party, which was similar to the football parties Fódlaners conduct during the national game—one of the strangers things Claude remembered about the country.

Two different parties all in one month.

The house budget for celebrations of the Golden Deer house was suspiciously high. Claude understood that Eastern Fódlan was the heart of the economy for the most part. All of the major corporations were here including his grandfather’s company. Perhaps the past Golden Deer members, sons and daughters of mercantile, were able to haggle for a bigger budget?

Nonetheless, it still went over Claude’s head.

The spreadsheet for the party budget was right in front of him yet, the numbers did not make sense to him. It was not like reading widespread conquests and wars throughout the night; this needed a businessman’s savvy.

The only person who had any remote knowledge of numbers was Lorenz.

He and Claude were not on speaking terms.

Yet the house president felt absolutely no shame as he knocked causally on the Gloucester heir’s door, laptop in hand, and asked like a child lost with homework:

“Are you good with numbers?”

Ever since that fateful night, Lorenz righteously kept his distance from Claude. They both knew why and respected the separation. Even still, the Gloucester heir could only sigh in frustration and held out his hand, fingers gesturing for Claude’s laptop.

Somehow, the hour the pair spent together, Lorenz instructing his housemate through the pains of budgeting, a deep pain stung in Claude’s heart.

It was a dull sensation, hardly strong enough to warrant any concern, but it was still there for Claude to feel. To acknowledge it.

But Claude swallowed it down.

He did what he had to—who could blame him?

And yet, the act of Lorenz’s reluctant kindness kept this pain raw.

It stayed raw for quite some time.

______________________

Claude was set out to hang with the girls on Tuesday after Byleth’s seminar—the young instructor was emoting more often nowadays, even speaking feverishly over Sothis’ divine mercy.

“The Goddess forgives all of her children. Who find themselves lost in the dark may return to her holy light again,” the man chanted without looking at his trusty teaching guide.

But Claude was not one of her children—at least, he believed so. His mother was from this land but she had no love of it. And Claude was born of his father’s blood. His skin. His eyes. And in this land, he bore the mark of an outsider.

No, he was not permitted to the mercy of Fódlan’s goddess. But, then again, Claude had not done anything wrong.

_Why am I so bothered lately?_

Right before the young man headed back to the dormitory to join Hilda and the others, he had run into something. It was shortly outside the classroom where a small girl with purple hair tripped against him and fell to his feet.

Claude peered down, eyes lit up with recognition.

_Ah, you’re the screaming one from the forest._

Before he could say anything, the girl scrambled to her feet, threw a letter right in the boy’s face, and dashed away in fright.

Claude stood exactly for a solitary minute. He did not know what exactly just happened nor did he care to think about it. Instead, the boy lifted the letter from his stunned face and held it up to the afternoon sun.

_Claude von Riegan._

_I think it is about time we had a proper chat._

_Come to the Black Eagle house for tea with me this Thursday at 4:00 pm._

_I await your reply._

_Sincerely,_

_Edelgard von Hresvelg_

Byleth stepped out of the classroom, books in hand, and stopped by Claude with a curious look.

“A love letter?” He asked in a strange attempt to be playful.

Claude blew a low whistle. “More like a death sentence.”

______________________

Hilda Valentin Goneril was an enigma. She was a woman who concealed her secrets behind lipstick and eye shadow. She was also a woman who had eyes like a sentry, and could read people like a book.

Claude’s book was always closed.

He hadn’t said a thing, merely watching as Leonie helped Lysithea into a cute ruffled dress as Marianne made tea in the kitchen. There were two pans of baked brownies on the island, which smelled freshly pulled from the oven.

_Did Lysithea make them?_

Nearby, Hilda was fixing her bra strap, angled cleverly right in the corner of Claude’s eye so he could catch her movements. She peeked over her shoulder once in a while, coy with a grin. But soon frustration crept upon the young woman’s pretty face and she scoffed—just loud enough for Claude to hear.

He jerked up, blinking as though he had awakened from a terrible dream, and nodded nonchalantly. “Oh, sorry Hilda—the lace looks nice on you.”

However, the pink-haired beauty pouted; her eyes rolled over and she scoffed. It was usually very difficult to pull one past her, not that Claude was particularly trying very hard. He had so appreciated her support since his arrival, finding her observant nature quite useful. But now the boy only desired some ignorance from his house as he pondered in peace. It was only a shame that nearly all the women in his house were sharp-minded.

Leonie and Lysithea continued with their dresses but kept a worrisome eye on him, hesitant to speak out as to not misunderstand the situation. Strangely enough, in the end, it was the doll who came forward first.

Marianne held out a cup of tea for him to take, smiling softly; she had begun to show herself, little by little, through small acts of kindness and attentiveness that Claude observed throughout the week. Since their horse ride, the young maiden had grown closer to the house president, almost seeing him as a far off reflection of herself. Claude, in turn, seldom thought terrible of her. In fact, it pained him to think terribly of her.

She sat down beside him on the couch, eyes drawn down her reflection wadding in the teacup. “You look...tired, Claude. Is something bothering you?”

Claude followed her action and stared down at his own reflection. A face of a stranger sneering back at him.

“Uh, could I ask you, ladies, something?”

Leonie rolled her eyes. “Depends on what, Claude. I keep falling for the same trap of Raphael asking me to time his push-ups with a carrot dangling from a string.”

“I wish it was that simple,” Claude chuckled and reached into his coat—but then he stopped. He didn’t feel ready yet to talk about the execution sentence he hid close to his heart yet. Instead, he withdrawn his hand, thought of a passing idea he had earlier, and voiced it.

“I’m thinking of asking someone special to dance with me during the autumn ball. But I don’t know what exactly I should do—go about it per se,” Claude said, keeping his eyes down as Leonie’s lone whistle echoed in the house.

“Who is it?” Hilda wastes no shots. And yet the pure look of amusement on her face was enough to send the house president into a school girl state of embarrassment.

“I’m not telling you!”

“Then we’re not telling you,” Leonie said with her chin high in the air, mouth curled in a triumph sneer. Even Lysithea who usually stayed far away from trouble started to giggle maliciously.

“It’s okay Claude—you can tell us. We won’t tell anyone,” Marianne promised, throwing a short look to Hilda behind her. The doll, who rarely spoken, was as animated as she was horseback riding. How could Claude refuse her?

A master manipulator too, I see.

He sighed. “D...Dimitri.”

Everyone blinked, all that chattiness gone and out the window.

Hilda grinned widely and spoke very slyly. “You know...I knew that arrow was to be Cupid’s. An encounter of a lifetime.”

“I don’t think you need to do much for him to dance with you. He’s too nice—he’ll never turn anyone down,” Leonie said matter-of-fact.

“No, I meant like—you know. Not just one dance...”

Lysithea groaned; she knew where this was going. “You stupid bastard, just be forward with him. Get him some sweets or something. That’s what most women do anyway.”

Claude tilted his head for he hadn’t caught the sarcasm in the maiden’s voice. “Really? You think sweets would work?” He asked. In truth, he found Fódlan’s method of wooing to be too shallow compared to the things he was used to back in Almyra. _Would Dimitri be wooed by a plate of cake?_ Lysithea maybe but not Dimitri. Or perhaps he would enjoy the sentiment enough to let Claude in a little.

Or maybe, it would just be easier to do things Claude’s way. The results were more permanent anyway.

“It’s not like he’s a damn king. No one is stopping you from just asking the boy to prom,” Leonie brushed off.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Claude muttered and pulled out the envelope from his coat.

Edelgard’s invitation dotted with a skilled pen was still resting like a weight on his heart, and he passed it to Leonie. Lysithea and Hilda peered over the taller girl’s shoulders while Marianne simply watched for the Goneril daughter’s reaction.

Claude took a sip out of his tea, trying to quell the ache in the pit of his stomach. Was he sick? The past few days, he had been feeling nothing but a nausea that never truly left him. And it hadn’t started with Lorenz, though that encounter was enough to exasperate him. Since the boy left the Blue Lion house, the overwhelming intoxication that followed kept him awake for days. Now the iron princess wanted to see him.

Was this fear? Fear of what?

“Holy shit, Claude. Edelgard invited you to tea? Alone?” Leonie asked in great surprise.

“Yup,” he said; his mind was elsewhere, ticking off in deep thought—always the schemer. But this time, everything was coming up on a blank.

Lysithea hummed. “That is indeed rare of Edelgard to invite anyone. She is always so particular with her tea partners that many of them know beforehand. An invitation is quite the privilege.”

“To be honest with you, I don’t think I’m being invited to be a skilled conversational partner,” Claude explained. He pressed his fingers to his forehead, pacifying the slow headache that was approaching. “We...haven’t been on good terms at all.”

_Would she remember that I called her idea stupid?_

“Who is?” Hilda sneered, sitting next to Marianne with her arms crossed.

Leonie threw down the dress she had in her arms and peered closely at the letter with a laser focus she usually reserved for _Captain Jeralt’s_ drill runs. Her fingers runs all over the paper, curious. “She certainly has amazing penmanship. This looks so official. But why exactly do you think she invited you? If she hated you, I would assume she would make this look...less fancy,” she said.

Claude shrugged. “Well, for one, I shot her brother in the shoulder.”

Marianne made a strangled noise. “That was you?!”

“Long story—but then I said some stupid shit to her—“

“Not surprised,” Lysithea whispered to Leonie, the two giggling like fools as Claude ignored their remark with a chuckle.

“And there was that incident in the forest.”

Leonie raised a brow. “The Stag King incident?” She asked in a laughing voice.

“Anyway, here we are,” Claude said, gesturing out widely to himself. “I’m invited to tea with Garreg Mach’s queen and I’m one hundred sure that I’m going to get assassinated.”

Marianne sighed softly. “Couldn’t you just reject her invitation?”

“Then she’s gonna think he’s weak,” Hilda pointed out cleverly. “It’s a double-sided sword. He has to go and endure what she wants. Or reject it and have Edelgard think that you’re afraid of her.”

_Always so astute, my lady._

Claude shook his head. “I need to reply to her soon. God, I can’t imagine how this whole thing is gonna go. Anything could happen.”

“Yeah, she could kill you. Just like what happened to her uncle,” Hilda said.

Lysithea frowned deeply; her throat visibly tightened and she clasped her hands together. “Hilda, you can’t just say that. It’s not appropriate.”

“Honey, it was all over the papers. And we all knew it was her.”

Claude picked his gaze up. Through the deep, pulsing ache that roared in his mind came a familiar clarity. One that gave him rest at night and a conscious clean throughout his life; it shielded him from the ugly feelings that plagued him throughout the month. He smiled—there it is—and edged forward.

“Wait, so do you ladies know what exactly happened to Edelgard’s uncle?” He asked lowly, beckoning on the girls with an inquisitive gaze, appropriate for an evening of gossip.

Appropriately enough, Hilda was the first to speak, though lacking in her usual sharp bite. “Five years ago after President Blaiddyd died, Senator Volkhard was found shot in his own home. The only person present was Edelgard.” She touched his lips and looked up to the ceiling in thought. “But it’s funny how the feds found nothing. Even after interrogating her. The details are foggy since that whole family probably paid off the media and courts to get off their backs. Not to mention, all of Fódlan was still in mourning.”

Marianne hung her head and stared at her half-drunken tea. “What an unfortunate family.”

“So then...it’s just rumored that Edelgard killed her uncle. We don’t know for sure that she did,” Claude pointed out matter-of-fact. He needed to remember all this for later, some conformation closer to the truth.

“Sure, but the story just doesn’t add up. No forced entry. No other company in the house other than the senator and his niece at the time.”

Lysithea frowned. “But why would she kill her own uncle? He was the only blood family she had left as her mother died in the car bomb too.”

Claude stopped. Blood family? Dimitri never mentioned this—were they not related _?_ They kept referring to each other as siblings so it was only natural for Claude to assume that the two were related. The twists and turns were sending small ripples of pain to his headache and he rubbed his temples.

“Wait, wait,” he chanted, the girls stopping in their chatter. They stared at him, faces glazed over in confusion and worry. “Is Dimitri and Edelgard related?”

“No, not by blood. They’re step-siblings.”

_Oh, so that’s the truth._

And yet, the devotion the pair carried was equal to that of actual blood siblings. Everything from their mutual protectiveness to Edelgard’s fraternal domination in the school council meetings. While they didn’t look the same, the way they spoke about one another seemed to imply otherwise.

Why didn’t Dimitri tell him? Or was this a fact that was not especially important to him as they already considered each other family?

Somehow, this made Claude angry.

It was not like he was never close to his own family, especially his cousins. He wasn’t. And now they never will be.

“Hilda,” Claude suddenly called in a voice he could not recognize. When the pink-haired girl looked up, he nodded solemnly. “Could you come with me when I go see Edelgard? I don’t want to go alone.”

She smiled. “But of course, my stag. I wouldn’t want you to get eaten up by the big bad eagle woman, herself,” she cooed as though he were a child.

Lysithea clapped her hands, finally freed of the subject at hand, and gestured to the warm kitchen. Her mouth was drooling, a gentle rumbling hear from her stomach. It was clear that since the party began, the girl was practically starving for the brownies on the island. Leonie had to remind her several of times that they couldn’t eat until after they tried on all the dresses Hilda had ordered.

“Enough talk! Time to eat,” she announced, throwing one of the pans on the coffee table. It still smelled fresh, filling the room with warm sensations of chocolate.

Claude tilted his head curiously and looked to Lysithea with a smile. “Did you girls just bake this?”

Marianne shook her head, edging forward to catch the smell. “Oh no, Lysithea’s friend brought it over for us—Annette, right?”

“Yes! She and Mercedes made extra batches for us when they heard about our dress party,” Lysithea explained, pulling out mini plates from no where—unless she had powers to pull items out of the air itself on the whim of her stomach. She began to cut the brownies up into squares and handing them out to the party.

_The girls from the Blue Lion House_.

They were delicious, no doubt about that.

And then, an hour later, Claude started to see sounds and shapes, and patterns spiraling across the room. He shakily propped himself on his elbows—the sensation soaring through his body like waves.

“Are these...special brownies?”

_The Blue Lions girls were druggies??!!_

But the only response he received was laughter from the girls; Lysithea was staring longing at a cereal box in the kitchen, Leonie was on the floor, cackling, and Marianne was half asleep, petting her pillow as though it were a horse. Only Hilda was sane enough, strangely, to give an ear-to-ear grin as she waved around a little goodies bag. It had some brownies stuffed in it.

“Cllaaude,” she called out...to the far wall completely adjacent to where the boy was sitting. She held up the bag like some victor in blood sport. “Saved some for lattterrr,”

“Hil-da!” Claude sputtered, still able to cling onto his factories—his dizzy, color factories. “That’s genius! Fucking gen—“ he stopped, eyes drawn up to the weird patterns in the ceiling. Somehow, he was able to think properly for just a second and grinned like a fool. “H-Hilda. M-Make another bag—I want to save it for someone special.”

That evening of dress trying and gossip, Claude and the Golden Deer girls lazily sang off-tuned and danced until the boys found them passed out on the floor. Raphael had some too because Claude awoke the next morning—at 1:00 pm in the afternoon, with his entire house drugged asleep on the floor.

Only Lorenz refused the treat. He silently made coffee for the drowsy house president and the two sat in the kitchen, enjoying the strange silence that came between them. Silence and the sound of snoring.

______________________

The Black Eagle house nestled in the south of the school grounds. Unlike the area of the Blue Lions, the area here was eternally sunny and hot with clear skies and much more color. There were also more structures—student-run coffee shops, study spaces, benches, and other places that glistened under the harsh sun. It seemed closer to one of the bigger cities than any other place on campus.

Hilda confessed that she had come over here often to partake in some of the expensive coffee—and to make fun of Ferdinand who had to finally, in his life, work for his money once his father stopped putting funds into his bank. The entire time she was chatting, Claude was just mystified on how well the Black Eagle area was—especially compared to the cold, grim, and dangerous terrain of the Blue Lions. At the very least, the Golden Deers had the forest and eternal sunshine.

Their house was right in the center of this park, completely gated with a high-security fence that ended with an intercom gate at the front. Claude was completely taken back by the surprising security of the place—as though he were approaching some celebrities’ mansion, and Hilda practically had to drag him over to the intercom. It blinked red in wait.

“What the fuck—their house is so much better than any of ours!” Claude complained openly, rattling the electronic gates with vigor. It did not budge one bit.

“Don’t do anything stupid, they have a camera system, you know,” Hilda warned and slapped his hand away. True to her words, there was dual whirling cameras nestled on each side of the gates, spinning back and forth per five-second mark. Claude and Hilda stared at them, the former giving a goofy wave. “The Black Eagles has always housed children of Enbarr politicians. I guess the parents wanted better protection for their kids so Garreg Mach implemented a gate system.”

Claude stared at the intercom and back over at the house. It was, in essence, a manor, putting much shame over the Golden Deer’s 24/7 party house. He even remembered last week where the crew blasted rave music throughout the night and woke up with the living room turned upside down. That was the house of the stag king. This manor belonged to Garreg Mach’s queen.

Of course, she had to be protected.

After a moment, where Hilda kept pinching his sides playfully, Claude finally mustered the courage to press the intercom button.

A deep voice emerged almost instantly.

“What is your purpose?”

_Woah, scary._

“Uh, here to see the madam president for tea,” Claude replied, leaning against the gate as though he were seducing some woman at a bar. The voice answered back, absolutely humorlessly.

“Riegan. You may enter.”

There was a high click and the black gates pulled away to the grand manor up ahead. The cameras had stopped their rotation, directly staring at the pair immobilized at the intercom. Hilda looped her arms around Claude, winking with a confidence only so natural to the Goneril family, and pulled him along. The gates immediately close behind the pair and Claude could only watch as his only escape route is cut off as they walked right up to the executioner’s stand.

Inside, the pair were greeted immediately by a looming phantom at the door, a man Claude faintly remembered from his encounter with the Black Eagles at the forest. This man with pale skin and ink-black hair, eyes devoid of any friendliness or love. He stood right in the doorway, peering right at Claude with a look the boy could only frame as apathy? And yet, why did it feel as though this person was looking down at an insect to squish with his heel?

And then Hilda spoke.

“Heyyyy, Hubberrt.”

“Oh no, not you,” the man instantly bemoaned without emotion, but his eyes twitched at the sight of the girl.

She huffed. “Excuse me! I’m with Claude today, mister.”

“The invitation was for one.”

“And it’s foolish for any leader to head somewhere alone! You know this—you’re practically Edelgard’s shadow,” Hilda said with a wag of her finger. She got up right up to the towering man and poked him in the chest. He could only watch, growing more sinister in the minute. Claude almost appeared as some child, hiding behind his mother’s back as she confronted a school heard bully.

After a moment, Hubert stepped aside to the grand house and said; “Riegan meets with Lady Edelgard alone. You can accompany him up the living room.”

A command, not a suggestion, and neither Hilda nor Claude had the energy to argue such a thing when they stepped into the Eagle’s nest.

______________________

“I did not expect you to be punctual,” was the first words Edelgard von Hresvelg uttered to him from the fine tea table in the sunroom; there were expensive snacks on a tray, littered with sweets and sandwiches, and a floral tea set out upon the laced table cloth. She sat, perched on the other side, in the most perfect and straightest position—a true leader in wait, wading in the afternoon sun that glowed through the windows.

Edelgard stared at Claude as he slowly made his way over. While her usual distaste was still present, no doubt since the two hardly shone any sort of amiability since the run-in at the cathedral, but she seemed...more gentle. Relaxed. Nearly placid as Claude pulled the chair out and sat down, slouching obnoxiously with his back.

The corners of her lips twitched but she said nothing.

“Princess, I gotta ask, what’s gonna happen with Hilda? Your ghost just kept her in the living room,” Claude pointed out and jabbed his thumb in the direction where his number two was being detained by the phantom of the opera.

Edelgard raised her perfect brow. “She was not invited. So she could either go home or wait in the living room for us to be concluded.”

“Fun...” Claude did not like being separated from the Goneril daughter for too long; she was a surprisingly good confidence booster and her surprise moments of wisdom were helpful. Now it was just him alone with the princess.

“I was not expecting you to accept, Claude,” Edelgard said, her voice strained at his name, pronouncing a word she never spoken before.

_She has never called me by my name, huh?_

“Well,” he started cautiously. “I never expected you to invite me. I even thought it was some piss-poor assassination attempt at first.”

Edelgard did not laugh. She lifted the teacup to her lips and sipped very delicately, all while watching him closely.

“Because I think it is about time we actually talked. Clear this terrible air between us. It would make the rest of the year hard when we’re both tense.”

“Couldn’t agree more, madam.” Claude grinned sardonically. “But may I ask, why exactly prompted you to ask for my hand? The last I saw, you wanted to have me beheaded when I was being too noisy last meeting. Remember?”

Edelgard dismissed the notion with a single hand wave. “To be honest, Claude, I still think you’re quite a brute. A savage. But...” she looked away, somewhere far off and warm. A small ghost of a smile stretched at the corner of her lips—she must look so beautiful when she smiled. “Someone convinced me that I should get to know you more. That we can...reach some common ground between us.”

Claude leaned in forward, eyes glazed over darkly. “Dimitri, right?”

“My brother feels that I misjudged you...somehow. So I decided to take his word on it and talk with you today,” she said slowly and stared at him distantly. “I hope you know that I am taking this very seriously.”

Don’t be a joker, was what her words truly meant. It did not seem like the right time for Claude to provoke her any further. While Edelgard sat rather comfortably in her kingdom, he just noticed how stiff her shoulders were, how her hand slightly shook when drinking tea, how her sharp heel tapped against the carpet in deep apprehension.

The princess was nervous.

Claude’s aching smile spread thin, the gears in his mind moving once again, and he leaned his strong arm on the table, fingers tapping methodically. This automatic movement was merely an instinctual reaction at this point, one Claude could not even fully control once he got going.

Truth be told, he would have rejected Edelgard’s invitation for had not been a fact that they were opposing. It was always so easy and precise for Claude to think clearly when it came to those who actively hindered him. These people were always so extreme in their hatred that it made things easier when Claude succeeded. Lorenz was one such example, though not Claude hardly understood why he wasn’t so happy with his victory now. Perhaps the iron queen would remedy this strange moroseness.

The Golden Deer house president laughed a noise that feigned friendless and he nodded.

“Of course! Let’s chat, your highness. To be quite honest, I always wanted to get to know you since the day we met in Manuela’s office. No better time than any to really dispel this invisible wall between us.”

Edelgard blinked in a pleasant surprise. “Yes, that sounds lovely,” she said.

_She’s quite a softie, isn’t she?_

“We clearly got off the wrong foot,” Claude offered with a feigned smile. The young man’s reflection in the water rippled violently when he leaned forward, images twisting to something other than human. “Any sister would be worried if they found their brother shot and bleeding out.”

Edelgard’s eyes narrowed, but not out of the spite. “What really happened? He kept insisting that he walked through an archery range.”

“Simple: I accidentally shot him with a loose arrow. But it was completely unintentional—I would never hurt Dimitri,” Claude answered truthfully, without a smile. The princess nodded along to this answer, her anger surprisingly failing to show its head in place of a deep exasperation. It was always odd to witness other people’s weakness and, at least of Claude, this was usually a pleasant feeling. But the sight of the girl bent over the tea table, fatigued and a tad disorientated let him with a rare feeling of pity.

If only it stayed.

“He’s always been too soft for his own good—too weak,” Edelgard stated harshly. “Not physically, mind you, but he’s always covering for people. Expecting the good in everything. But the world doesn’t work like that—it’s cruel and terrible.”

Claude nodded solemnly. For once they agree.

“I always have been the one to protect him from the world. It’s been that way ever since our parents died.” Edelgard sighed deeply into her tea, the steam dissipating into the afternoon sun.

“But you’re just his step-sister. It’s not like you two are actually related,” Claude said in genuine confusion.

This prompted the president of the Back Eagle house to frown deeply, brows furrowed together between the line of irritation and puzzlement. “Why...would that matter?” She asked slowly.

When Claude did not reply, Edelgard placed her teacup back onto the saucer and breathed out gently through her nose.

“Do you...have any siblings, Claude? Any cousins?”

_Used to. Not anymore. Why would that matter?_

Claude shook his head, not following what the princess was alluding to. And for the first time, Edelgard smiled at him. And it was sad.

“I’d figured as much. You speak and move so freely. Without any weight to you at all. Sometimes, I really envy that about you,” she admitted straightly. “But my brother and I...there’s always someone trying to take advantage of us—split us apart. I cannot afford to have fun or hang loose, not with everything that’s happened to us.”

At that moment, the fog cleared; Claude had understood now. It was a reluctant connection to Edelgard, but a connection he could not ignore. Misconceptions fade away begrudgingly and he frowned.

“That’s why you wanted to cancel the ball,” Claude said quietly.

Edelgard smiled again. She believed the talk was working—there’s common ground here between them. But the princess seldom noticed the hazy darkness in Claude’s green eyes or the way his voice dipped.

In her happiness, she failed to see his anger—he knows what is coming next.

“Listen Claude—I know what people think of me. And they’re right to. I can be...not good sometimes. I know it. But I have to work as hard as I can for our future. Once Dimitri and I graduate, I’m taking him somewhere far from here. I’ll work to follow my father’s footsteps and my brother can pursue whatever he wants in peace—but no one would ever hurt us again.”

So this is what Dimitri sees: not a tyrant of the school or a cold-hearted queen, but a beloved and strong sister who protected her family with a dagger. She was dedicated and rational in her ideas.

Claude had lost the game from the start. In a world where Dimitri had to choose between the two of them, Edelgard takes the crown every time. He felt like laughing at the Goddess for her cruelty.

“D-Did you kill your uncle?” Claude asked breathlessly with a shaky gaze.

Edelgard did not hesitate. She never hesitated.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because, after our parents were killed, he threatened to have me married off to one of his senator friends once I came of age, and wanted to send Dimitri off to an overseas military school—all so he could take over the office. I simply could not allow it so I shot him,” she explained nonchalantly while sipping that rest of her tea.

Rumor has it that she murdered her uncle in cold blood. Probably because he disagreed with her, Claude recalled Hilda’s harsh words of cynical gossip, once again surprised by the girl’s moments of truth. He watched Edelgard in disquieting awe and swallowed down his surmise.

“But I heard the feds found nothing.”

“Dimitri’s uncle Rufus paid off the authorities when I confessed. It’s funny—I did not think he be so kind considering that he dumped us here.”

_You followed Dimitri here, didn’t you? What was his crime to be abandoned by his uncle?_

Claude was in a state of disbelief. How sure he was of Edelgard’s lack of humanity and Dimitri’s delusion. As it turned out, the siblings had each other’s back since they were children. There was nothing here for him to uproot and capture.

Claude’s head was ringing, violence swelling, and throbbing under his throat. But he smiled through it all, even as Edelgard smiled back at him. Her hand reached out and touched his.

“Dimitri was right—we should have talked ages ago. I feel like the world’s weight is off my shoulders. I hope we can work together better from now on.”

But the words merely came out as white noise, a suffocating static that overwhelmed all of Claude’s senses; he gazed down at his reflection in the tea, rippling and distorting until it was only a monstrous form peering back at him.

_Edelgard had all the power._

_She killed her uncle because he was in the way._

_She’s going to take Dimitri away._

Claude’s mother always talked about how rivals were not so different, and were defined in their own set of logic and rules. It was a mirror idea in which two opposing forces were actually mere reflections of each other. By recognizing this can one find unity in their enemy.

But Claude could only see enemies and threats everywhere. It was like Ivory all over again; they took her away and she ended up under the tires of a passing car. Claude couldn’t let that happen again—for them to snatch away his happiness.

He cannot lose again.

______________________

A story Claude’s mother often told him was back in Old Fódlan as she often referred to the great land she had abandoned. A story that drifted throughout Claude’s life, a returning hereditary disease that could only inconvenience and deny him, how she met the love of her life and would come to leave everything behind.

A tradition of Eastern Fódlan still followed to this day was the annual round table talk, though it was hardly a ‘talk’. All the heads of the Fódlan’s big corporations gathered for a garden party at the Gloucester estate—high society men and women draped for the media camera standing outside of the curb; useless chatter on politics, industry, and wealth while sipping on wine and champagne; legacy rivals and former partners eyed each other from across the pavilion.

A party of masks, she called it, everyone was only there to size each other up, to impress and imprint while tearing down other masquerades—a silent game among the rich—a hunt.

Claude’s mother, who every year was dolled up for the propositions of being introduced to one of her father’s associates, had escaped the party to the stables outback.

There, the woman of Riegan stumbled upon a bare-chested rider in the sun—caramel skin, olive green eyes, and a smile to blind.

The rest was history.

Perhaps Claude’s mother should have sold her story to a beach romance publisher than her son. Of course, anyone would be adamant in believing the soft ideas of love at first sight. But Claude and she were not so different—they were blood after all. Lady Riegan came upon her love emulating the cover of a romance novel; Claude von Riegan met his love when he struck him with Cupid’s arrow.

Was it possible to fall in love with the same person a second time?

Claude had never expected to stumble upon his prince in the wild, riding on a white stallion as though he had entered a fairy tale universe whilst on a nature walk.

Then again, the trail Claude often took for his long solitary walks did merge with the riding trail from the stables, but he hardly expected to be greeted by the handsome angelic face of his love, golden hair shining from the midday sun, and blue eyes wide and oceanic. He heard the warm laughter from behind him, spun around, and nearly collided with the firm chest of a white thoroughbred.

Dimitri pulled the reins up and gently shushed his mare, staring right at Claude with an enamored expression. Was he blushing? Was Claude blushing? He had to touch his own face to make sure as Dimitri pulled up close in front of him.

“Claude! I never expected to run into you here!”

“What? I don’t seem to be the type to take long, romantic walks through the forest?”

“No, honestly,” Dimitri said, smiling. “You don’t seem to be one to champion such trivial activities—I’d imagine you reading in the library or something.”

Claude clicked his tongue tauntingly. “Dangerous assumption, my lion. Even I have to enjoy the smaller things in life. Besides, walking gives me...control of my life.”

“Well, I was set to have lunch at the hilltop up ahead. Would you like to join me?”

“Oh my prince, I’m honored you think these legs can keep up with your pretty little horse.”

Dimitri laughed, the heavenly noise casting a sharp pain down Claude’s spine. He shook his head and extended a gloved hand out. “Jump on—we’ll ride together.”

_Am I a princess? Could we not just get separate horses?_

Claude stared dumbfounded at the hand stretched it before him—large and taunt with strength no doubt. It was beckoning in the sort of the way his father used to whenever he broke something in the house—no arguments.

After a moment of quick consideration (and trying to disquiet the nausea in his stomach), he accepted Dimitri’s hand and was pulled up like a rag doll right behind the rider. Edelgard was not joking about the physical part.

It took a moment to realized that he was pressing right up against the young man’s strong back in an unconscious attempt to adjust himself on the horse. Claude did not pull away, but he hesitated to fully throw himself around the strong shoulders of his prince. As much as Claude wanted to touch Dimitri, he didn’t want the boy to feel any sort of excitement—and just being this close was threatening enough. Dimitri, on the other hand, was peering over his shoulder with a playful expression, blue eyes twinkling with humor.

“Claude, have you ever ridden a horse before?”

“Marianne took me out a while ago, but I was not good—at all,” he said, chuckling softly at the memory.

Dimitri leaned back a bit, gesturing something clearly intimate. “Then you better hold on tightly. The trail gets worse from here the higher we go up,” he said in a rare teasing tone.

_When did you become such a seducer?_

Claude grinned like fire. Was his love actually lifting back for once? Such an invitation was ever so tempting. He could not tell if Dimitri was trying to be coy but the amiable mood washed away any modesty Claude had been displaying—his hesitation cooled. The young man chuckled breathlessly, slinked his arms around Dimitri’s iron torso, and squeezed a bit—even leaning forward to prop his chin on the boy’s shoulder.

“Like this?” He breathed close into the boy’s ears

Dimitri said nothing, but the gradual redness that crept up his ear lobes said enough; Claude laughed out loudly as they begin to ride away, ascending up the forest trail.

The entire time, Claude relished in his rare moment to cling so entirely onto the boy’s frame, feeling the rapid beat of Dimitri’s heart right below his arm. He pressed his head gently on the other boy’s shoulder and watched as the forest spread out and pass before them.

There were other riders on the road going back down to the stables; some of them stared dumbfounded at Claude as he clung to Dimitri like some kind of liberated princess from a tower; he blew them a kiss and one of the riders—a boy of fluffy red hair from the Black Eagle house, rode right into a tree and fell into the forest with a yelp.

Leonie who was also passing by on her steed caught wind of her house president clinging onto the body of the Blue Lion’s head, and nearly buckled to the ground, as she watched in dismay.

Dimitri’s gentle chuckle rumbled throughout his body and gently against Claude’s face, a purr he never wanted to go away. The trees began to spread out thinly as the horse climbed up the slope, sunlight pouring more in waves through the canopy—it illuminated Dimitri’s hair to threads of gold, and he almost appeared glowing.

_Mother, is this what you felt when father took you away that day?_

The hill top was a popular destination, mostly for riders or dedicated joggers, to travel to for picnics, as it gave an impressive view of the entire school grounds and even a glimpse of the outside main road, where it was the last meeting between parent and child. For the houses, this was a popular bonding activity Seteth often led during his group therapy sessions.

The last time Claude was up here was when Leonie had to piggyback Lorenz up the way as the entire house stood at the top, watching in amusement. Dimitri reeled his horse over to the post and dropped down to secure it as Claude followed and almost tripped in the mud.

It was a beautiful day; blue skies, white clouds; the entire campus spread out before them with the cathedral jutting out on the highest hill. The main road leading up the Garreg Mach had a few cars passing down, the only image of freedom that pained his heart. A strong hand clasped around his shoulder and he glanced over to see Dimitri gesturing silently to a clean grassy spot under a tree, right on the edge of the hilltop.

He had a picnic basket in his other hand.

Was he going to eat that by himself if he didn’t ask me to join him? Claude asked, his heart racing from the already knowing Dimitri’s intent in all of this.

_You handsome sneak._

______________________

“I always come up here once in a while for lunch—especially on wonderful days like this. Usually with my friends. We’d sit down here and eat, and watch the main road sometimes,” Dimitri explained, leaning against the tree trunk and watching Claude pleasantly. “With the end of this month, all of them got too busy finishing their studies. I still wanted to come here though. It’s a good escape from all this work we have to do for next week’s ball.”

Claude chewed on his sandwich and returned his companion’s half-lidded gaze with a nod; they had laid out everything, relaxing peaceful in the shade with brief moments of silence and gentle talks. Dimitri, in particular, appeared faintly flushed for some reason, as though he had a fever coming on. He kept looking at Claude and chatting—which was okay. Claude did not mind being the silent one. He liked hearing the boy talk, the pleasantness of his voice was practically a lullaby.

“Well, lucky you ran into me, huh? Or else you would have to eat all this food alone,” Claude joked playfully with a wink.

Dimitri’s cheeks burned and he choked momentarily. “Actually, I was looking for you, Claude.”

“Who wouldn’t? I’m quite a catch.”

“I meant it—I wanted to have lunch with you today. Marianne said that you usually take nature walks around this time so I thought—“

It was Claude’s turn to choke. The mix of delightfulness and surprise caught him coughing and Dimitri’s strong hand went and slapped—pummeled it out of him. He hacked to the grass and began laughing hysterically.

“Dimitri! Are you...were you stalking me?!”

“No! Yes! I mean...it was unintentional—I didn’t know where to find you—your schedule is an enigma,” the prince stuttered wildly, shaking his head red.

“Awww, I cannot believe you rode up just for me. I feel so flattered, truly,” Claude said, touching his heart. It was beating furiously beneath his hand. “I always love talking with you, my lion. But you could have just left a letter or something at my dorm.”

“Hilda said I had to be spontaneous...”

_Of course, she did, the little minx._

“Well—this is certainly spontaneous. But don’t you think this is more suited for a romantic date than just hanging out?”

“I...I wasn’t thinking, honestly. I just wanted to find some time between us.”

Claude smiled and leaned in close. “I’m jesting sweet prince. This is nice,” he reassured, laughing a bit.

Dimitri nodded, keeping his gaze straight ahead to the distant view of the main road down below. However, despite this, the faint redness of his cheeks betrayed all composure he intended to keep.

It was about time to role of the blushing virgin was switched—it never suited Claude anyway. Then again, the feeling was so new and foreign to him that it was only natural for the man to be so combative with it. Control suited him much fairer, though he didn’t mind feeling a bit weak around Dimitri—there was nothing he could lose here.

“There’s so much work for the Autumn Ball next week. I barely had any time to myself. Even sleep seems much like a waste of time,” Dimitri admitted, staring out to the land. “I don’t even enjoy that sort of stuff.”

“What, you don’t like dancing? Eating? Wooing the local women?”

He chuckled lightly. “You sound like Sylvain. No, it’s just that too many people make me nervous. It’s always been a stressful thing for me, even back when I was a boy.”

Claude hummed; that’s right, the boy belonged to a political dynasty. Having some trepidation over such social events was not a good mix for a future leader. Then again, Dimitri was probably good at hiding it. “I’m guessing Edelgard did most of the talking?”

“Always. She’s always been the one to take the mantel—thank the goddess for that. As if I can ever do the things she do,” he sighed into his sandwich. There was a certain regret to his words, as though he failed himself in some way. Claude watched him for a while, eyes glazed over in scrutiny; for what was intended to be an enjoyable picnic, Dimitri certainly knew how to damper the mood.

After a while, he leaned forward, hand carefully placed gently on top of Dimitri’s—why is his hand always so cold?—and said rather humorlessly, “You should love yourself more.”

“Excuse me?”

The voice that escaped Claude’s lips was not his own; his mother was channeling herself through him, and he played the role as her mimic. And for the first time, mother and son were unified in their sincerity. “It’s okay to be sad, Dimitri, but you really have to give yourself some love. Some form of respect. You’re a good person.”

“You don’t know me, Claude,” Dimitri stated coldly.

Claude laughed. “You’re right, I don’t—but you don’t know me either.”

A threat; they both felt it and sat in a stalemate silence, watching each other from inches apart. Implication versus implication. Accusation vs accusation. Their resting hands clasped over each other, afraid to move away. How strange it was, two boys so utterly different natures could share a moment of solitary in their mystery.

Finally, the stalemate broke when Dimitri spoke very slowly: “Do you want to know why I am here?”

It was an ultimatum that will only last in this very moment. Claude would not receive such an offer again, he sensed it in the boy’s strained voice. The high wind around them blew softly, a voice too distant to make sense, but its existence was known. Finally, he nodded and squeezed Dimitri’s hand.

“Yes,” Claude said breathlessly.

“I killed people.”

Claude stopped; a laugh buried in the back of his throat, threatening to expel out in the face of his companion. That’s it? But Dimitri wasn’t laughing. In fact, the boy was staring right at him, a look so frozen and stiff that it almost seemed like he wasn’t breathing.

“What happened? Did they hurt you? Was it self defense?”

“In a way...but that doesn’t justify the things I have done for us.”

_Us._ The same lingo of _we_ —the language Edelgard used at tea. One and the same. Claude sat closely, leaning over attentively. “What did they try to do to you and your sister.”

Dimitri’s empty gaze blinked back into something close to recognition, a warmth clouded from Claude’s surprising perception; his eyes dropped down to their latched hands.

“After my parents died, my uncle Volkhard wasted no time...expressing how he really felt about us. He and his council never liked my parents’ marriage. When they went, I think my uncle and the other senators saw it as an opportunity to get rid of us.” Dimitri was wavering, threatening to collapse. He never even noticed how close the other boy was getting, an arm slinking around his back protectively. “We were pawns to them—I didn’t want to be separated from my sister. I didn’t want them to corrupt the only happy memories I had of my parents. But when my uncle Rufus failed to shield us from them, I had to do something.”

“Do you think they killed your parents?”

“Possibly. It’s too late to ask them now.” He shook his head. “After my uncle Rufus found out, he sent us here—I think it’s his grace to us, that he wanted us to rehabilitate with Rhea than to face the public. Edelgard didn’t need to come with me—she did nothing wrong.”

_But she killed Volkhard; she admitted to the murder itself._

Claude did not voice this fact out loud, in fear of fracturing Dimitri’s state even further by the memory of his sister’s stained hands. Instead, he slowly wrapped his arm around Dimitri and pressed up against him in a comforting embrace. The boy leaned into the gesture warmly, lulling his head under the boy’s chin. They stayed like that for a little bit, just relaxing against each other without an inclination of affection or some sort—just to steady, feel warmth.

“We’re not so different,” Claude said lowly, rubbing small circles with his thumb on Dimitri’s back.

“Did you also...”

“Hm.”

“I see.” The boy sighed physically, his body growing heavier against his quiet companion. “May I ask what happened?”

“The same thing with you—there were people who wanted me gone. Now they’re gone. Simple as that.”

But that was where the similarities end. Claude keenly understood that any unity between their tragedies was only in the act of killing itself, but splits at the philosophy. Even from Dimitri’s tone, he understood the concept of guilt. Of blame. It overwhelmed the young boy; children were never meant to become accepting to the ideas of murder. The pain follows them to adulthood.

Such things were foreign to Claude. But now, by speaking the act itself, he shared what Dimitri had often felt—what he believed he felt earlier with Lorenz. However, it quickly faded as it came, and it felt the boy mildly confused with the spell that came upon him.

After a while, where the only sounds on the hilltop were the faint chirps of birds, the muffled neighs of horses traveling around the forest trail, and what Claude could only imagine was some squirrels chasing each other around the bushes, and not some stalker in the trees, Dimitri lifted himself up.

He smiled softly at Claude, a relieved sort of pleasant look that bordered on sleep. “It’s funny—Felix told me to never tell anyone why I was sent here. I suppose it’s some big taboo to keep such things to yourself—prison rules, he called it. But I feel like I can tell you everything.”

“You can.”

“Claude, can I try something?”

_Yes. Yes. Yes._

These words never came to him; he hummed softly and watched as Dimitri leaned in slowly; their breaths intermingled—hitching into a shared gasp as lips captured one another into a kiss.

Claude made a small groan and brought his hand up to clasp around the back of the boy’s neck, fingers twitching excitedly—Dimitri’s strong hand fisted the front of Claude’s uniform and pulled him closer until their chests touched. Everything was hot and swirling—bleeding. Someone got greedy—who?—and Claude felt the other boy bit his bottom lip desperately.

Modesty faded away; the kiss delved into something more needy and violent, the two fragile walls that kept them distantly cordial, crumbled. Dimitri pulled back to catch breath and Claude immediately fell forward to recapture the boy’s lips, their teeth clashing. Greedy hands began to travel, grasping onto anything—just to hold on, and Claude felt his ass being squeezed.

He pulled back, gasping in surprise.

“S-Sorry! I got too excited,” Dimitri clambered, pulling his hand away. His handsome face was red with sweat, bits of saliva dripping from his bruised lips. Claude hardened and laughed the boy’s shaky insecurity away.

“My sweet lion, I adore your greediness—really.” Claude tasted metal and touched his own lips—blood. “My, my, you’re a biter? I should have known.”

“Claude!”

“Don’t worry—I love a bit of pain. Especially from you. But I never would have thought that you pulled the first move, though.”

Dimitri’s fingers, without anything to cling onto, automatically reached out to latched onto Claude’s. He was half-laughing, half crying, and just a bit of everything with a near mental breakdown. Claude brought the boy’s head and kissed his forehead, whispering sweet words of love.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s happening with me. I never told anyone before—outside of El—Sylvain, Felix, Ingrid...And you’re so nice and patient and—ever since you shot me with the arrow—I...I’m sorry, I’m not making any sense anymore. I bet you think I’m an idiot.”

“Oh baby boy,” Claude cooed, pressing his lips to Dimitri’s ear—he nibbled a bit, earning a soft gasp from his companion. “I lost my heart to you the moment I shot you in the shoulder.” He ran his hand under Dimitri’s loose uniform from their kiss play, fingers searching desperately for the mark—the one created that day by his arrow; it stretched from the shoulder to the upper collar bone, a deep crevice into the skin. Claude did this—he marked this boy. And it will never go away, a reminder of his love. “Feel this, Dimitri? It’s proof of my dedication—you’re mine.”

Dimitri laughed, ears red and bruised and hot. He buried his head in the exposed crook of Claude’s neck—taking in the boy’s scent deeply. The two boys stayed that way, afraid of losing each other should they pull apart. Finally, Claude reached into his uniform pocket and fished out a baggie.

“Dima,” he breathed, nudging the boy gently; Dimitri lifted his head up, eyes dark with affection and lust. Claude playfully grasped his chin and lifted the bag up with a suggestive grin.

“Want to hang back with some special brownies?”

They laid down, side by side, watching the white clouds morph into flying creatures and laughing faces, patterns that swirled and donned the sky; sleep came slowly, limb over limb, and their breaths synchronized.

______________________

For the first time since Claude arrived in Garreg Mach, he was able to answer Rhea’s long repeated question. She clapped her hands, saintly face shining brightly with the pleasure of progress; the road to recovery was long, but redemption was always there, waiting. But in her excitement, she failed to notice how milky and far away Claude’s eyes were, his words of intended remorse were nothing more than an automatic utter from his daydream—he yearned to see him again.

And how could he intend to be released within a year if he did not submit and share? His dream was so close. Happiness was but a walk away. And if he needed to bow to the church, so be it.

Everything will all be his soon.

______________________

The Autumn Ball took place all along the school grounds, with lanterns glowing throughout the forest and areas, but the centerpiece was at the cathedral. It lit up into the starry night sky like a beacon in the middle of a black sea. Lights poured out of the stained glass windows and reared up against the darkness, a signal for the houses to make their arrival.

The Golden Deer house exited out of the dormitory, breaths heavy with chicken and beef from the pre-eat party. The girls were glimmering like multicolored stones in a caves, dressed long and frilled with blinding colors. Hilda especially was glowing like a goddess as she hooked her arm under Marianne’s and laughed breathlessly. Lysithea’s heels already had given her a nasty blister, so Leonie gave her a piggyback ride down the hill and onward. Raphael was slightly full—a rarity—from his own pre-eat party and leaned onto Ignatz for support. Lorenz, on the other hand, dressed up rather appropriately for his status. A rose among weeds, no doubt. Even Claude had to grace his former opponent with an impressed nod.

The cathedral was already full of students, eating and drinking and dancing. The two other houses were also present considering the mixture of blue and red within the brightly lit crowd. The music both assaulted and soothed Claude’s senses with a poor choice of modern and classical, rave light blinding his sight. Everything was dizzy and far off, and the house leader stalked off to the side from the dance floor.

There were many faces he recognized among the couples—Leonie, surprisingly, had seemingly taken Lorenz’s hand and the pair were doing a mix between a waltz and a jig. Lysithea had dragged Raphael to dance, but she had her tiny, bruised feet on the lumbering giant’s as he physically guided them along. Even the fallen horseman from the nature trail, the one from the Black Eagle house, was trying to pull Edelgard’s phantom bodyguard to the dance floor.

He then saw the iron princess herself, hair pulled up into a braided ponytail as she slowed danced with a brunette—her head relaxed against the other girl’s chest. Edelgard seemed...happy. They were even whispering something to each other in the sort of way girls of close hearts do. Edelgard’s face reddened and she shook her head.

It seemed like everyone was having a good time, absolutely detached from their personal tragedies for a single night.

He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around to see Hilda; she was twirling left to right with a knowing smile and big eyes. Claude blinked and then laughed loudly, taking her hand and leading her towards the dance. They clung onto each other gently, falling into a natural waltz. Hilda batted her eyes and giggled. He never did see her as happy until now—as if pulled back into her natural state. Did the Goneril’s attend parties often? Throughout the entire dance, Claude’s eyes wandered over Hilda’s head, scanning the crowd nervously, just for a glimpse of a golden set of hair.

At the end of the dance, Marianne, the quiet and gentle doll of the Golden Deer house, was the one who asked for Hilda’s hand next. The pink-haired beauty practically flushed with love, and Claude could only watch as the girls merged into one another like pastel flowers, giggling as they went.

He stood alone, in the middle of a moving floor, desperately seeking the hand of ice he held up in the hilltop. Instead, what he got was the sunset eyes of a samurai.

“You. Me. Dance. Now.”

Claude did not laugh. He stared dimly at the harsh, piercing glare of the Blue Lion’s Felix. He had his arms crossed, eyes glazed over with striking impatience and anger—as was so natural to him. Behind the boy was Sylvain who began making wild no gestures, hands waving frantically across his neck as he shook his head with a worried expression. Claude’s eyes dropped back over to Felix—already growing more sinister with each passing moment. He smiled sardonically and took the swordsman’s small hand.

“Sure thing, love. Why don’t I lead?” Claude suggested with a wink, pulling the smaller boy forward; in the back, Sylvain buried his head into his hand and physically sighed.

The other couples on the floor became mere whirling blurs of color as Claude locked eyes with Felix. Despite the harshness of his gaze, the clear unpleasantness of his expression, the boy was clearly beautiful. Even more so than Dimitri.

He had long, elegant black hair, which he let loose and fall over his shoulder like some kind of maiden. This only made the amber of his eyes glow even more. As they danced, Claude carefully ran his hand down the boy’s slender back—he was a lean thing, his frame paling in comparison to Dimitri. But no doubt, his long legs, and elegant frame were fitting of a dancer, and all that kendo he does probably helped.

Unfortunately, this pretty boy came with a sharp, bitter tongue.

“What do you want with Dimitri?”

“Whoa,” Claude whispered, blinking. “We were having such a good time, gorgeous. Why do you have to bring him into this?”

“Because you won’t leave him alone,” Felix hissed as Claude lead him into a sort of twirl. They followed the crowd and dipped lowly before Claude pulled him up and close to his face.

He smirked. “Oh, I don’t think Dimitri wants me to leave him alone. Free world, right?” Claude said, hushed.

Felix changed his footing mid-dance and somehow got Claude to follow him intensely; he frowned deeply as they swept across the floor in wide movements. “I don’t know why he’s so infatuated with you—but he shouldn’t. I know what you did.”

Claude chuckled, dropping his hand to Felix’s ass—the swordsman flinched and the Golden Deer house president switched the dance back to him. “You said that last time, right? I told you—you can’t judge someone based on their eyes. Not that you ever really tried to directly look at me. What’s wrong, darling? You get too easily flustered?”

Felix’s grip tightened on Claude’s hand, and then, without indication, swept his feet right under him. Claude tripped back with a silent yelp, and Felix angled his arm and knees to catch the boy into a low dip. The world slowed around them as the sunset eyed swordsman smiled cruelly, leaning close until his raven locks tickled Claude, and whispered, “Oh, I wouldn’t say I get too flustered, _Khalid_.”

_Oh, so that’s why._

“How did you—“

“Tiana von Riegan is the only one with children in the family. All it took was some tracking. And then I found all the Almyran news articles—mysterious deaths in the family.” Felix’s brow furrowed deeply and his eyes glowed like fire. “You’re a sick motherfucker.”

Claude pushed his leg up, bringing the dip to an end as he practically knocked heads with the boy. For the first time, Claude was unaware of his own expression; everything was white and red, and his head pulsed violently; his fingers twitched around Felix, threatening to rip and tear. He only smiled before pulling the boy along.

“Are you insinuating that I was involved with their deaths? Ridiculous. You don’t know why I’m here nor can you prove anything, beautiful,” Claude said in a sing-song voice, a deadly melody seeking its victim.

Felix grimaced and showed his teeth. “I know what the eyes of a killer are—no remorse whatsoever. You can’t hide shit from me, killer.”

“We’re all killers. Garreg Mach is filled with nothing but killers. You’re probably a killer. Dimitri is definitely a killer. What difference does it make outing me as one?”

“Because you will kill again.”

The statement alone ended the dance. The two boys stared at each other in a suffocating silence, hands still clutching onto one another tightly—white and shaking with ill-intent. Felix’s amber eyes twitched furiously, his mouth a mere thin across his face. Claude, on the other hand, was strangely calm. Smiling as though he found a treasure in a cave.

With a shaky voice, Felix hissed out, “I won’t let you hurt him. We went through too much together for you to fuck things up. Stay away from my brother or else I’ll show you exactly why I was sent to Garreg Mach.”

“Oh sweetheart, I would absolutely love to see that dance,” Claude chuckled darkly; at the last second, he brought his face forward and captured Felix’s lips into a biting kiss.

The swordsman’s bright eyes lit up in surprise, groaning as the man harshly bit into his bottom lip, drawing blood. A strong hand whipped out and slapped Claude away loudly—the sound vibrating across the floor.

Everyone stopped. Soft gasps and covered mouths in awe. Felix stumbled back into the attentive arms of Sylvain—his lips were bleeding red and his face livid white. He was panting—too wasted on such a pure rage that he hardly noticed the redhead whispering gently into his ear, leading him away from the dance floor; Sylvain looked back and threw Claude a dark, betrayed look before disappearing away into the crowd.

Claude smiled lopsidedly, touched the stinging side of his face, and said with a shrug: “Hey, that’s what I get for being too handsy. Could you blame a guy?”

______________________

The night was black with twinkling white stars—constellations stretching across the mass sea when Claude ran into his beloved prince. He had stumbled outside in a disorientated mess, still numb from all his dancing excitement, when a strong pair of arms caught him from falling off down the Cathedral’s cliff. A wonderful, angelic voice cooed to him softly and he lifted his head to greet the cool blue eyes of Dimitri.

The boy straightened himself up, flashing his usual grin of confidence, even with his swelling cheek. Dimitri slowly reached up and touched it, face glazed over in worry.

“What happened to you? Did you fall?” He asked frantically, looking all over the side of Claude’s face. The Golden Deer house president chuckled and grabbed Dimitri’s wrist; he brought the hand over, place butterfly kisses all along the knuckles.

“No, I just mistook a pretty girl to be you,” he muttered and stared up at Dimitri with dark eyes.

The boy’s face reddened. “You have to stop being so loose, Claude.”

“Baby, I’m all yours.” He tugged Dimitri closer, running his hands down the boy’s back as he whispered into his ear. “I was looking all over for you. Where did you go? Trying to run from me?”

“N-No! I just can’t handle all the festivities. It makes me nervous...”

“Well, I saved the last dance for you—unless you’re still as nervous as a young virgin.”

Dimitri chuckled and gripped his companion’s hand, fingers lashing on tightly. “I wouldn’t want to dance with anyone else but you, Claude. You make me feel strong.”

“That’s my line, handsome,” Claude said in a laughing voice, bringing their chests closer for a waltz. But the dance never came.

Instead, he turned his head and captured Dimitri’s lips into a surprise kiss. The boy moaned pleasantly and nibbled playfully on Claude’s invading tongue. The two stood for a minute, breathing into one another, hungry hands roaming and clenching; Claude’s hardened bulge rubbed roughly against Dimitri’s thigh, thrusting a bit, causing the boy to gasp. Dimitri pulled away and blushed furiously as curious hands gently squeezed his own excitement. Claude chuckled against the nape of his prince’s neck.

“I think we should take this dance somewhere else, my lion,” he breathed.

Dimitri nodded wordlessly and allowed Claude to pull him away back in the direction of the Blue Lion dormitory. As they went, Claude caught the sharp gaze of a predator in the dark; amber eyes narrowed to thin slits—a brief shone of a blade.

Claude brought his arm over Dimitri’s possessively, bringing the intoxicated boy into another deep kiss. His lips were laid hungrily, sucking and biting, as dangerous green eyes riveted up met with his stalker in the night.

Green to red.

And in his display of intimacy, Claude grinned darkly—a threat thrown across the field to the swordsman, of possession and murder.

A single red leaf had fallen to the ground.

The Autumn Ball had signaled the coming of winter—the reign of the eternal chill.

Come next month would be the Capture the Flag tournament on Gronder. And for Claude, anything could happen that day.

Even accidents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo, 
> 
> Another long chapter done! We reached the middle ground of the story---it'll only get worse from here, folks. I know there will be a lot of people curious with my interpretation of Felix, and honestly, after playing the game like 999 times to cry my eyes out, his relationship with Dimitri has always been super complicated and deep. 
> 
> Sure, at first glance, he utterly despises him for his brutality during the rebellion, but like Loog and Kyphon, Lambert and Rodrique, Dimitri and Felix will always be connected one way or another. The hate comes from a place of love hence the reason why Felix will never be happy in a route outside of Azure Moon (he finds some happiness in his spouse, but other than that, he is deeply affected by his betrayal of Faerghus--if you have him kill Dimitri, it's even worse)
> 
> My interpretation here is a deep dedication that you only see glimpses of in Azure Moon without all the hatred. I have a weak heart for good brotherly bonds (He and Sylvain are still gonna bone, but they're gonna make sure Dima's okay and stuff)
> 
> Anyway, I update weekly so follow me at https://twitter.com/Meatbike344
> 
> I plan on consistently updating every Thursday/Friday so Gronder Field will be on either one of those days :) BTW, I want to call out Usaigi for possessing some future sight in predicting my plans for Annette and Mercedes to be pot brownie buddies XD did you look at my chapter notes??


	6. The Flag on the Gronder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude and the gang go camping; spends a quiet morning with his prince; concocts a bloody plan on Gronder

_**Lessons in Ancient Almyran Politics** _

_\- Elimination through Blood -_

_All men know that peace is not universal; there will always be enemies, opposition both in and out of the shadows. They will voice their distaste, show their hatred, and work to undo the work of their rivals._

_And sometimes, there is no way around them other than death. Such ideas are no strangers in our land; a land of sun and blood. And yet, it is the methods that showcase one’s humanity._

_A common method many have taken is the physical attack itself—to personally take responsibility themselves again their rival._

_If one manages to outwit and murder their enemy, then one’s argument must have more weight than their enemy’s life. They are the ones who are dead; victory is proof of their weakness._

_One must do what it takes to achieve victory. For who will remember the dead?_

The night Claude took Dimitri, he discovered three important things.

One, that the boy’s face, smeared with tears, sweat, and cum hadn’t left Claude since that night. It invaded his thoughts so suddenly, even when he was simply spending time with his own house, like flashes of white heat during the Almyran summer.

Dimitri, half crying, panting wildly like a bitch in heat as Claude took him faster—rougher; shivering hands uselessly pounding against Claude’s heaving chest as the man chuckled and quickened his pace. His tight grip around Dimitri’s thighs, strong enough to leave marks as he pushed them up, plunging deeper into the squirming boy. Dimitri was pleading, he was wailing, restraining his moans with pained chokes. His spent violently spewing on his chest and face, quivering in Claude’s steady, pumping hand.

And the entire time, Claude could not look anywhere else but the absolutely exhausted face of his beloved lion—breathing softly with near sleep while he continued to violate hm. The beautiful facade of a prince replaced with a common whore’s pleasure—and it was all for Claude, and him alone.

The second thing he discovered was that Dimitri was, surprisingly, not a virgin.

Not that Claude was angry—it was unreasonable to demand Dimitri to save himself for a boy he only got to know for a few months. Rather, Claude was taken aback by the vicious eagerness his love displayed—all indications of his ‘blushing virgin’ character abandoned for completely and utter want; Dimitri kept biting and begging Claude, desperately pleads into his partner’s ears.

There was no want for romance, no sweet words or slow shows of love—he begged to be fucked, rutted like a dog, as he left long marks down Claude’s back. The other boy grunted in response, demanded Dimitri to keep still, and spat terrible things that would shame his own mother.

 _My eager little_ _cock sleeve._ _.._

_Keep screaming—I want this entire house to know who you bend to._

_Look how well your hole takes me in—I’m going to fuck you so hard that it knows no other master._

And Dimitri took it in, took all of him with murky eyes rolling back, tears skewing hot paths down his red cheeks. He wanted to be used like a tool. Even Claude blushed at all the things he said that excited the other boy. And for some reason, it scared him quite a bit, to know that his first time with Dimitri had been so violent.

But then again, he could hardly complain considering the painfully glowing smile he had the next day when he returned to the Golden Deer house with the healthiest complexion he had in his life. Hilda immediately recognized what had happened and high-fived the man with a bravado fitting of a proud frat boy and his roommate.

And the third and final thing Claude had discovered about Dimitri was that the boy was a cuddlier. And a strong, clingy one at that; naked bodies, sticky with each other’s spent, clung onto each other desperately until the sun was high in the sky and the light shone through the frosted windows; Claude was the first to stir, gazing dimly to the sun rays pouring into the room; a strong pair of arms thrown possessively around his body, deep red marks imprinted all over his neck—nipples still were swollen painfully.

And in the quiet hum of the pleasant post-sex morning. Claude almost forgot about the world.

Almost.

Because it came crashing down at the slap of a ruler.

Claude snapped back into reality, blinking himself into clarity, to the worried faces of his housemates, and the looming expression of Seteth; the sun shone through the forest canopy, casting pinholes of light dancing all around the ground.

Everyone was dressed in outdoor hiking clothing, sitting on a mountain of equipment. Seteth stood, tapping his foot impatiently as Captain Jeralt was hanging by a nearby tree, drinking out of a canister.

This month was the Capture the Flag tournament at Gronder Field. For the past few weeks, the houses had to endure all of the ‘bonding/teamwork activities’ Seteth and Jeralt had created in preparation. Hiking, riding, canoeing. It finally ended with Jeralt’s infamous three-day camping mission for the house; three days to survive in Garreg Mach’s contained wilderness with nothing but a few supplies and the teamwork of the entire house—if they can even work together, that is.

Claude had been dreading the moment since Jeralt first announced it during one of his obstacle drills, the ‘shift from training the body to training the team’ he had said with only Leonie giving a thumbs up in approval.

It was only Wednesday. Claude had three long agonizing days ahead of him. And all he wanted to do was bury his head in Dimitri’s firm chest again and sleep.

“Claude, what in the world could you be thinking about while I’m speaking?” Seteth demanded, green eyes glowing from the shadow casted by his stupid fishing hat.

_Claude, please, I can’t last any longer..._

“Of my fiancee waiting for me back home once this war is over,” Claude quipped with a tired grin, earning a twitched glare from the infamous drill captain standing afar.

“It’s only three days, kid—you’ll survive,” Jeralt gruffest, lifting the canister up to take another sip. His eyes, wrecked with dark rings of age and fatigue, seemingly lowered to Claude’s compliant.

“As I was saying,” Seteth started once again. “You all have three days to work together here in the forest—you have your basic supplies, an emergency radio in case anything goes wrong, and, most importantly, each other. Teamwork is essential in succeeding in this challenge. Rules are as it follows: don’t leave the forest, don’t enter any building, and don’t interact with other houses attempting the challenge. Other than that, Jeralt and I wish you the best with camping.”

Hilda raised a hand; her face was contorted darkly, perfectly threaded eyes creased down in deep, hissing spite.

Seteth sighed. “No, Miss Goneril, you cannot have your phone back—no electronics while camping.”

The hand went down reluctantly.

“How do we know if we passed?” Lysithea asked worriedly.

“When you all don’t look like shit when we get you,” Jeralt said; he sneered and rubbed his nose. “You have no idea how quickly you rich kids give in. I’d be surprised if everyone except Leonie makes it past day one.”

“You think we cave-in that easily, old man?” Claude challenged, raising a brow.

“Probably a better chance that the Black Eagle house, that’s for sure—that Ferdinand kid looks like he was gonna faint from breaking a nail. But compared to the Blue Lion house, we will see—those northern kids are nature freaks.”

“Alright,” Seteth said and clapped his hands loudly. He rose and peered up to the sun; the air was chilly with the coming of winter, breaths faintly puffing out with bits of frost. He smiled sympathetically. “It gets cold at night—I suggest everyone sets off and find a place for shelter.”

“Good luck, little bastards.”

______________________

The entire Golden Deer house descended deeper into the eastern woods, a staggering line of shivering and noisy children as they followed Leonie around the overgrowth and rocks. She was the only one with any remote experience with camping in general, suggesting that the best spot would be higher up than where they originally started—a place more isolated and dry to keep out the cold.

They hadn’t encountered the other houses so far, though Ignatz heard other voices echoing somewhere far off. Not that Claude was in the mood to catch up with other students, but he would not have minded seeing how Dimitri was. The Blue Lions were used to the cold—this was no problem for them. He might even spot Edelgard—the thought of the princess tripping into a shallow stream and getting mud on her dress made him snicker.

Eventually, Leonie led the team to a low spot under an exposed tree root, looming over to form a natural cave of some sort. There were heavy bushes surrounding the groove, with little sunlight flowing through. Despite this, this seemed like a perfect place than any to set up camp.

Hilda threw down her things in a large huff and stamped her feet.

“Is this it? Can I rest now?” She whined, touching her sweaty forehead in emphasis.

Leonie looked around a bit, kicking the ground with her boots, and peering over at the foliage. After a while, she nodded triumph and turned around with her arms crossed. “Yes, yes, this is the place. We should be good here—much warmer and closed off compared to the low, open fields we saw earlier. That’s usually the first mistake to camping.”

“Both recreational and in war,” Lysithea sighed, collapsing dramatically on the discard pile of tent bags.

Leonie nodded, laughing. “Well, Stag King, what do you suggest we do?”

Claude also sat down, rolling his shoulders around from all the heavy lifting he had to do for the past hour. Everything ached and stung with string marks on his skin; he felt both hot and cold—but the day was not over yet, He lifted his head up, wiping the sweat from his brow, and said, “We need to get all the tents set up first—build a fire pit, and lay out everything else. Ignatz, what types of tents do we have? Seteth gave us a bunch.”

“They’re doubles.”

“Alright—we’ll open everything up, put it down, and then we’ll assign roles and placements.” He ignored Hilda’s long, drawn-out groan and pushed himself up, cracking his back as he did. Claude braved a smile—all leaders had to inspire confidence—and clasped his hands together. “Alright team, let’s get to work.”

It was easier said than done.

As Claude figured out, his house did work well together—but everyone loved to complain along the way. Loudly. Noisily. If they were prey in a forest, the wolves would have already been upon them just from the excessive groaning everyone kept making—mostly from Hilda and Lorenz. And Lysithea considering her tiny stature.

After an hour of the most agonizing work session Claude had ever experience, which included all of Seteth’s fun bonding therapies like crewing down the lake, with Claude barking orders to the back of the unresponsive kayak— _why did Seteth let Lorenz take the back, give it to Raphael instead_ —the Golden house in a rare form of unison collapsed on the grass with the exception of Leonie, Raphael, and Claude (he wanted to but responsibility held him by the neck).

The tents were set out and pinned properly, and all of the sleeping bags were thrown carelessly inside. Hilda half crawled to one of them and curled up at the entrance.

“Cllluaaddde, could we take an hour nap? We done soo much work,” she wined to the ground, never minding how it was getting her clothes all dirty.

Lysithea turned over and grimaced. “Work? You didn’t do anything but kick around the sleeping bags!”

“That took effort!”

“I don’t think we can afford an hour break. It looks to be noon now, but the day is growing shorter. We need to set up a fire and have some food to eat tonight,” Ignatz pointed out, eyes darting in thought to see if he missed anything.

Marianne nodded. “Seteth provided us with some campfire food—but he only gave us enough to last for one day. And we need hot water for these.”

“He gave us a mini pot and a burner, right?” Raphael asked hopefully.

“Just the pot. And there are bottles of water, but not enough. There has to be a source of water here somewhere if we run out,” Ignatz corrected.

Claude clapped loudly and sat down on the ground. “Take five—we’ll have to properly plan out if we are to survive the next three days.”

Hilda, naturally, bemoaned her pain once again and sniffed—was she crying? Was camping that terrible for her? Or was it because she didn’t have her phone? “Why do we even have to do this? Camping has nothing to do with Capture the Flag at all. One is stealing a flag and hauling ass—the other is literally a caveman life.”

_Caveman Life? That’s a new one._

“It’s about the teamwork, Hilda. And we really need your pretty face if we are to come out of this alive.”

“Do we?” Lysithea openly mouthed, earning a sharp glare from the pink-haired beauty. However, Hilda eventually nodded and sat up with her knees to her chest.

There were eight of them, with only Leonie and quite possibly Raphael being the most able in this sort of setting. Claude tried camping when he was much younger with his father and cousins, but that usually ended up with them abandoning him somewhere far off in the forest, and his father finding him later—believing the boy to have wandered off. But this wasn’t Almyra—and these were not his cousins. Either way, he did not have as much experience as he would have hoped.

He turned to Leonie, eyes drawn over solemnly as he regarded the woman.

“We need to get the fire pit started, right? What else do we need? Food? At least more than what Seteth gave us unless we portion.”

“We could portion...but that won’t give us enough calories for the next three days. We would need a good supply of food—maybe fish and berries? And we would need dry firewood for the next three days considering the cold. From what I saw, the next two days are going to be freezing.” She stopped and looked around, suddenly sheepish. She rubbed her arm and laughed nervously. “Uh, that’s what I think...you can do whatever you want...”

Claude nodded. “No, that is some excellent advice, Leonie. We will split everyone up into teams and we can do some work.” He thought for a bit. “Lysithea, Lorenz, Marianne, why don’t you three go collect some berries—Lysithea, I trust all that botany reading you did came in handy?”

The silver-maiden nodded vigorously; she had a keen eye for detail.

“Raphael, Ignatz, Hilda, you two go collect some firewood and get the fire pit started.”

The pink-haired girl tilted her head curiously and frowned. “Wait, why am I on lumber duty when the other three get to go berry-picking? Why does Lorenz get to go?”

“Why Hilda, as if I can break this beautiful frame of mine picking up wood,” Lorenz scoffed, somewhat offended.

“Okay, but what about my frame? I’m a delicate flower too!”

Claude snickered and shook his head. “Because I seen you push fifty sets in three minutes. You have muscle—go cut and haul wood, lady,” he ordered gently.

“Aren’t you being responsible?” She pronounced loudly, rolling her eyes with a groan.

“Good. And Leonie and I will go fishing. Seteth left us with two fishing polls but no bait so we will see what we will do. Remember, we all have emergency radios so just call if you need any help. Try not to get lost and if you do, stay where you are. We’ll try and find you.”

Claude crossed his arms; the chill had begun to set in, even with the day still out and bright. It won’t be long now before the evening frost came—the last thing he wanted to do was freeze over and die...in Garreg Mach of all places. Leonie clasped his shoulder and held out the fishing poles with a smile on her face.

The real work had already begun.

______________________

The first thing Leonie did when the pair set off on the road towards the stream she had spotted from afar was cut and pull sting together. Claude watched her in silence for quite a bit as she bit them into pieces and tied them together into a small noose. She had made several of these little nooses and they dangled over her arm. Finally, the tall girl stopped, proudly pulling on her last noose in triumph, and nodded proudly.

Claude arched a brow, smiling. “Whatcha got there? Something for the fish?”

Leonie shook her head. “Not for the fish. Here, I’ll show you,” she said, nodding towards the taller trees that loomed by the path.

With much care, she approached them, facing her hand along the trunk and watching the roots probe out of the ground. She circled them for bit, before stopping and then throwing a string up head and over a low branch. Claude watched in awe as she pulled the string down until the noose laid flat against the soil. She then tied the end to another side and stepped back, admiring her work.

“A snare,” Claude stated impressed. “I can’t even—how did you—“

“My father...he was a hunter. We used to go out to the woods and trap rabbits and foxes.” Leonie turned back and smiled softly, a memory Claude could not reach. “He taught me many things, even how to dig pits.”

“Pits?”

“Yeah, for bigger prey. Mostly deep holes in the ground, which I will cover with a thin tarp and then throw some leaves and other things on it. It was actually super fun. I can show you after we throw up the rest of the snares.”

Claude nodded, suddenly feeling like a child attempting to understand multiplication again. Leonie’s bright eyes shimmered like fire and she nodded along. They tied the rest of the snares up along the forest floor; with much luck, they could snatch themselves some actual protein, which Leonie warned to kill away from Marianne’s eyes as the poor girl would faint.

Finally, the pair were able to find a rather open spot on the forest floor. Leonie had picked up a large, dry stick where the ends where split off and jagged. She poked the ground a bit, trying to feel around for the loose soil before digging.

“Whoa, you made a shovel,” Claude pointed out.

“Digging stick! You probably won’t find a natural shovel in the wild,” she grunted with a half-laugh.

After a few minutes of impressive digging, Leonie emerged out from a five feet hole, covered in sweat and dirt. It did not take her very long at all, the instinct to dig and hunt so natural to her that even Claude stood impressed. They peered down at the hole she made together and he whistled.

“You...are really good at this. I can’t even believe what I was seeing.”

“Thank my father. That man is a goldmine of knowledge,” Leonie said but she was not smiling. Her shoulders sagged lowly, the hole she dug merely a dark abyss they were both staring into without purpose. Without knowing. The stick in her hand tightened until the bark snapped under her fingers.

Claude breathed through his nose, eyes off to the side. “If you don’t mind me asking...what happened—“

“Gang,” she said without hesitation. She sounded tired. “My father lost his job so I joined a local gang—we did a lot of petty crimes but it was enough to put food on the table. Then we went after this cop—something about cleaning up loose ends and robbing the man. It, uh, ended exactly how you think it did.”

_Did you kill him—_

“While everyone else made a run for it, I sparred with the cop. Eventually, I went down but he was very impressed with me. And then I recognized him—he was the officer that used to patrol my neighborhood when I was a kid. Taught me a few moves too. And he gave me a choice: I could either get arrested and face the court for assault and gang violence. Or, I come here to Garreg Mach and learn from my mistakes. Better myself.” Leonie turned and smiled at him, cheeks red with awe, an emotion so overwhelming that it practically burned the frost from the air. “That cop was Captain Jeralt.”

Claude blinked. “No fucking way.”

“Yes fucking way. The reason why he retired was that he came to teach here. I got in for free since he sponsored me personally and actually sends money home to my father so he can be fed. It’s because of him that I want to better myself. And If I work hard enough, I could follow in his footsteps too.”

“I had no idea, Leonie. I just thought your obsession with Jeralt was because you were into Dilfs.”

Leonie made a face so disgusted that Claude choked on the chilly air and laughed out loudly, slapping his knee. His talks with Hilda have led to some dangerous territory and her list of dilfs had been bouncing around in his head ever since. _Was Jeralt a six? Seven_? He had to ask her again when he had a chance.

“Please...do not ever say that again, Claude. Please,” Leonie begged softly.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Claude wiped the tears from his eyes and grinned. “So, shall we go fishing? You can come back and check on the traps tomorrow—maybe we’ll get lucky.”

The red head smiled, as though the weight of the world had departed from her shoulders; she threw her digging stick to the side, taking in one of the poles Claude had been holding onto for her. The pair looked back at their handy work before departing back towards the stream, where the water called out to them.

The sun’s chariot flew across the sky to darkness; Claude’s mind strayed towards the snares hanging silently in the forest—death traps for wolves. And he had begun to think.

______________________

A fire had finally gone underway. It sparked in the compete darkness and shot up suddenly, before glowing gradually from the dried firewood. It crinkled softly as Leonie laid out sticks of skewered fish over the pit so it could cook.

When the fire finally burned bright, the circle of faces illuminated in the darkness, covered in muck and fatigued. Just a circle of children sitting in the darkness. The air is of winter—biting and without mercy. Marianne is shivering cold as she leaned into Hilda for warmth. Everyone is covered in blankets and coats, but this does little of dissuading their chills.

They had decided to leave the food packets and water for the very last day—as an emergency supply. But the sight of the fish, scaled and cooking over the fire, made many of them wish to return to civilization. Everything is wet. Sleep will not come so easily.

Someone sniffed.

“When I get out of here, I’m going to apologize to my brother,” Hilda whispered to the fire; she’s shaking, her nose red from the cold. “I’ll tell him that I’m sorry for all the terrible things I said to him before I left. I’ll take back all of it. I just want to see him again...”

Marianne gently tucked her arm around the girl and brought her close until Hilda’s head was resting on her shoulder; she’s placing soft kisses on her forehead while Hilda began to sob quietly.

“My adopted father and I were never close, but I would like to try with him again,” she murmured at the top of Hilda’s head. The doll was not crying. She did not even look sad. Instead, there was a certain strength to her words, something that was never there before. Or perhaps it always was.

Raphael brushed his nose and looked down solemnly to the fire, swirling his fish with a saddening lack of enthusiasm. “The first thing I’m doing when I’m free is running home to see my sister. I want to tell her that everything is alright. That I will be there for her from now on.”

Ignatz patted his shoulder and nodded with a gentle approval. The bespectacled boy relaxed back against his giant companion, poking at the flames absently. He chuckled. “Maybe my parents will finally approve of me going to art school—I can show them all the paintings I did in Manuela’s class. By the Goddess, we said some terrible things to each other though...”

“I haven’t spoken with my family since they sent me off. I just hope they’re okay,” Lysithea voiced out loud nervously, bringing her fish up to her nose. “I know they sent me letters but I’m too scared to look at them. What if they’re still mad at me?”

“Oh, Lysithea, the fact that they send you letters means you’re still in their thoughts. I’m sure everything will be fine,” Leonie reassured with a sad smile. “My father still writes me letters. Sometimes they’re not even that important—he writes because he wants to know my day. It’s all fun.”

Lorenz gave a hollow laugh; his expression is strangely distant and empty, almost bitter as he grumbled, “Father doesn’t send me letters. He cut off communication after I was dropped off here.”

Claude held his breath, a violence swelling in his stomach.

_You and I are not so different, united in our neglect._

No one wanted to be here—Claude had forgotten that. They’re trapped by their own personal tragedies. Each a prisoner of their pasts, lacking in the key to free themselves unless the wardens permit it. Or perhaps, they did have the key—they just couldn’t see it. From the very first day, Claude had wholly believed he had thrown into a school of crazies—and that was not far from the truth.

But there was a layer to everyone’s madness, a thick fog concealing intent and the one absolute truth: they were all children. Scared children were unable to comprehend the severity of their actions nor the betrayal of their families for abandoning them here.

Everything hurts. Everyone is alone. They all want to go home.

“What about you, Claude?” Marianne asked gently, still stroking Hilda’s hair. “What about your family?”

_Do you have something to say to us before you leave?_

Claude smiled absently.

“I have no family.”

______________________

The second day, Claude accompanied Raphael to cut down some more trees for firewood; the darkness came too quickly last night and his team was only able to cut a few smaller trees. Today, the pair leave in the early morning to stockpile as much as they can.

Claude always knew Raphael was strong, but the mere sight of the boy having the ability to push down trees with his bare hands made the Golden Deer house president shiver with fear. Raphael approached a small tree—not small to Claude in any way—and pressed up against it until the roots spewed out of the earth and the entire thing crashed in the forest.

“You were not kidding, big guy. All that meat really does build muscle,” he said.

Raphael grinned and patted one of his biceps. “Exactly. Now let me drag this thing off the path—wouldn’t want this to block it now.”

_Block the path?_

Claude lifted his head up from the thought, watching as his huge housemate physically took the tree around its base and pulled it off the walking trail, barely breaking a sweat.

He even looked like he was enjoying the act itself. But it was all an ease to him. To knock down a tree. Several trees in fact. So effortless that no one would see it coming.

_Block the path._

Claude’s head, absolutely swelling with ideas, grinned brilliantly and touched Raphael’s shoulder.

“I’m glad you’re on the team, big guy.”

Raphael laughed boldly, not understanding where the sudden compliment came from. “The feeling is the same, Claude.”

_Is it, if you were to know of my plans, friend?_

“This really takes me back,” He said, wiping the sweat off his brow. The tree was thrown off to the side, clearing the trail. He leaned up against another tree, muscles probing beneath his coat as his fingers taut themselves for another push.

“You used to do this...for fun?”

Raphael laughed. “By the goddess, no! My sister and I built a treehouse together—I used to force down trees all the time and make planks out of them. Eventually, everyone and their mother wanted me to make them houses.” He flexed one of his arms proudly. “Hey, all that work was good for the body, that’s for sure!”

“You mentioned you had a sister last night,” Claude rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Did you two get into a fight?”

“Not exactly, but it will be hard to show my face to her after what I have done,” Raphael said, the earlier cheer and joy descending morosely.

Claude clasped a hand over the big boy’s stone shoulder and shook his head. “Look, buddy, you don’t have to tell me if it makes you uncomfortable—“

“No. I want to. You’re our house leader, of course—I know you take care of us.”

_A dangerous assumption, Raphael._

Raphael lingered a bit, staring off at the trail. There were no birds; they left before the frost. “Maya, my sister, she had this school bully. For the longest time, I believed. But she never told me—us. She never told anyone. It wasn’t until she came home with her shirt ripped open and her face in tears. So I took matters into my own hands.”

“Did you—“

“I didn’t kill him. I just roughed him up a bit. Showed him what would happen if he touched my sister again. But.” He stopped, to catch his breath. _Was he sobbing? Heaving quietly?_ “That kid’s family was rich. Not just rich but influential. When they found out what happened, they threatened to have me locked away unless my parents did something to correct me.”

So that’s it—an admission of your child’s wrongdoings by abandoning them once again.

“They left you here,” Claude said monotonously. He crossed his arms, staring down at the fallen tree near his feet. White-hot flashes pained into his heart, everything felt sick and suffocating. “You don’t belong here.”

“Claude, I wouldn’t say that—“

“You don’t belong here.” The other boy stated once again, without kindness, without joy.

Claude didn’t know if he was angry—it was hard to tell. He didn’t exact emote the same amount of energy one might expect anger to come. But his was aching—disquieting. And it ate him from inside up.

After a while, Raphael patted his back with as much gentleness as he could muster and said, “here, let’s grab some more small trees and cut some wood. It’s going to get cold tonight.”

It’s always cold.

______________________

Leonie’s snares were a success with some rabbits stuck dangling from the trees. True to her word, she killed and skinned them in private to spare Marianne the pain, though the demure doll refused the meat regardless, opting to eat some fish Lorenz had caught.

The second night was colder than the first, with everyone sitting right at the entrance of their tents, bundled in warmth. No one is talking as much, but there appeared to be sort of invisible camaraderie that fell over the group. It was not that the Golden Deers were close before, but even Claude could pinpoint certain gaps in their unity; certain people hung out with certain people, and intermixing people together proved awkward. Even Claude admitted to feeling comfortable around certain people in his own house.

When the early morning came, a sunless gray sky greeting the day, Claude awoken with his legs over Lysithea’s stomach, the silver-haired maiden slumped over Raphael’s chest. The house leader prompted himself up on his elbows to see that his entire team had fallen asleep on each other in a disjointed dog pile of blankets, coats, and fatigued bodies. The ground below them was wet with morning mist.

When Claude lifted his head, he saw that his pillow had been Lorenz’s winter coat.

______________________

No one predicted the rain.

Then again, someone should have noticed the mist, how gray the skies were, and the slight blowing of the wind. But it came so suddenly, the gradual downpour that touched their faces, that they stood in shock as the rain finally dropped upon the earth in a shallow shower.

The earth hissed around all around them and then Lysithea bemoaned without feeling:

“Well, that’s not fair.”

Someone hummed. “You think Jeralt will consider it a pass with us looking like this?”

“We have the camp and everything! We still the food rations Seteth gave us too.”

Ignatz shook his head; his glasses were all fogged up. “We need to last this day and night as well. And considering the rain and area, our campsite might be ruined.”

Water poured down from the treetops, splashing onto the tents below. The fire pit went out in a hiss, and everyone stood up from their had sleep.

“Hey gang, we gotta boot,” Claude said quickly, peering all around the wet camp.

“Claude, there was a dry cave overpass nearby when we were berry collecting yesterday,” Lysithea said, pointing to the western part of the woods. “It’s not far at all—if we could just grab all the equipment and supplies, we could rest there for the last night.”

“Could you lead the way, then?”

She blushed, nodding her head bravely. “Yes, yes!”

Hilda patted the girl’s back approvingly, smiling. “Claude, leave the heavier stuff to me and Raphael.”

Leonie clenched her fists. “Lorenz and I can clear a straight path there considering all the bushes and branches. We just need to haul ass before the food and blankets gets wet.”

Claude nodded without looking at her; he threw all of their emergency food supplies in their camping backpack and stood up.

The entire Golden Deer house ventured further into the woods, damp from the showers that poured through the canopy in strange, unmeasured levels—it will be storming soon, Claude could tell. Lysithea was right as usual—there was a cave overhead, but it rested on a rocky hill with no clear way up unless they climbed up on the most supportive side.

They gathered up around the base, with Raphael and Hilda carefully hoisting each member up against the rocks—everything was wet and slippery, and everyone clung onto each other, throwing their smaller siblings up first. Lysithea and Ignatz were able to get up on the top and supported each other in bringing Marianne, Lorenz, and Claude up with them. Leonie stayed carefully pinned to the side of the cliff, acting as a middleman when Raphael and Hilda began to hand her the tents and supplies to pass up. Finally, in a moment of surprise, Hilda was the one to stay behind—she somehow hoisted up Raphael up to Leonie and climbed up herself when he offered his strong arm out from a secure spot.

Once everyone united on the top, they found victory and solace in the dry cave as the rain began to downpour heavily on the forest. Most of their supplies were savaged with the exception of some beds and food packets. Ignatz, who had shot down some bird eggs yesterday with the intent of morning omelet shared his kill with the team—Claude was in awe of the boy’s sharp eye for archery—even he could not shoot an egg from a nest so easily. Raphael had preserved some wood from their cuttings yesterday and they were able to produce a manageable fire at the mouth of the cave. Marianne used rainwater and boiled it over for the untouched food packets as Ignatz cracked a few eggs.

The Golden Deers watched, wet and weary, as the curtain of rain completely entrapped them in the cave. Too tired to speak but too awake to sleep, they stared off to the blue-gray forest below. The faint lights of civilization glowing through the storm—their reward after the agonizing three days. Claude wondered keenly on what had happened with the other two houses, and if they were able to escape the storm after all.

But he never really found out. Because soon after, the boy passed out against Hilda’s shoulder and fell into a dreamless, weightlessly sleep.

______________________

The next morning, the entire Golden House had awoken to the slow clap of Captain Jeralt, who somehow tracked the kids to their cave. The man gave some speech about surviving due to teamwork alone and earned a joined chorus of weak groans.

Once the students arrived back at their dormitory, the entire house flooded the hot showers, ate leftover pizza, and passed out in their beds. No one left their rooms for three days—to make up for the three days wasted in the wilderness; everyone effectively missed all three days of class as well—with Claude skipping out his house president meeting. Apparently, based on Seteth’s strained tone on Monday’s group therapy meeting, none of the other houses had bothered to show up either.

Camping was a mistake.

But, at least for Claude, it had cleared his mind for Gronder. A plan was set in motion, and all it took was groveling through mud and eating rabbits like a caveman. And the rest of the days passed like a dream.

______________________

Claude had woken up in a cold sweat.

His drowsy eyes had traced the thin marks on his ceiling, casted in the dim blue light of the early morning hours. From the cool air in his room to the weak light merely illuminating the soft curtains than shining through with harsh rays, Claude figured he had stirred around three—maybe four in the morning, right in between where the day rose and the night fell.

_What do they call these hours? Twilight?_

And yet, despite this knowledge, he could not fall back asleep again, though it was always his problem even when he was a child—once he awoke, falling back into sleep was impossible. A dance between anxiety and want had always plagued him. He laid back down and closed to his eyes to take in the sharpness of the air.

Claude keenly acknowledged the heavyweight on him once he gradually adjusted his eyes to the dim darkness of his room. It was a pleasant sensation such as Claude would expect a large dog sleeping on his chest would feel. He shifted a bit, not fully getting up, but lifting his head up towards the softer side of the pillow. Sweat clung to his neck from the night before and the strong hand that laid limped across his bitten chest clenched a bit, fingers twitching with sleep. The thin blanket rose and fell with joined breaths, merely thrown across to hide shame rather than provide warmth—the sleeping boy on top of him was warm enough.

Claude slowly lifted his heavy arm—still sore from last night’s exercise, and curled it over his partner’s back, as if to keep them close. The movements made him stir a bit, a breathless mumble here and there, and finally, a pair of blue eyes—hazy from sleep, opened to Claude’s lazy smile. As though they were in a dream too far away to control or remember, the eyes blinked slowly—no recognition whatsoever of place, person, or thing.

Claude chuckled lightly and brought his hand over to wipe the soft, waking tears from his lover’s pale face. They laid there, staring at each other, comprehension to the drunk before the intoxication gradually fell away to an incredibly light acknowledgment.

“What time?” He murmured sluggishly in Claude’s bare chest.

Claude reached over and gently ran his long fingers through the boy’s golden hair.

“Time for you to go back to sleep, my lion—it’s too early.”

The voice answered back in a low growl. “You go back to sleep.”

_Stubborn little thing, aren’t you?_

Claude hummed softly, running his hand down the boy’s back, taunt with lean muscle; he felt every curve, pressing his finger along the boy’s spine lightly. He felt the shiver physically run down beneath the skin—the boy’s breathing becoming harsher, erratic; Claude felt his smile coming back on and then walked three fingers, tracing the nerve line until he suddenly dug into the soft skin on the side.

Dimitri gave a yelp, lifting himself up from the bed. Claude took the opportunity to throw his arm around the boy’s neck and pulled him forward, their lips crashing together. Dimitri made a noise of surprise and opened his mouth to say something—only for Claude to invade it possessively with his tongue. All resistance died away as they melted into each other, kissing with short moments of playful nibble. Claude was the first to pull away, staring at Dimitri’s dazed face, flushed pink. There was a bit of saliva on the boy’s lips; he laughed and wiped them clean from his lover.

“Looks like we’re both awake now,” he remarked, collapsed back on his pillow. “Man, it’s too early to be up—my housemates don’t even leave their rooms until ten.”

“I’m surprised you woke up at this time. All that studying last night really wore you done.”

“Right, ‘studying’.”

Dimitri hummed, lightly gnawing on Claude’s hand. “What, we were studying. And then you got all handsy.”

“You could have stopped me, Dima—but you choose me over religion. Imagine that, being chosen over the goddess,” Claude remarked playfully, half lidded eyes watching as the boy began to press light kisses up his chest; his strong hands reached over and gently twisted Claude’s nipples, pulling and flicking. Claude hissed softly through a pleased laugh and caressed the boy’s pink cheeks with the back of his land.

“You’re my God,” Dimitri murmured in a rare show of brevity and even bit the soft skin in the nape of Claude’s exposed neck. He sucked rather harshly, his canines imprinting deeply into the skin, and pulled back to look at his handiwork proudly.

He was like a dog at times, pride in the simplest things, like a hole dug into the earth. And Claude absolutely adored it.

“And you’re mine—and my, you certainly love to leave your mark on me. Afraid that I might switch religions?”

“I—well. I mean, I can’t stop you if you decide to—“

“Baby, I’m joking,” Claude reassured, restraining himself from bursting out in laughter at the sight of Dimitri’s completely straight and serious face. He ruffled his lover’s hair and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “No, I’m all yours. I promise.”

“Just until the year is over, right?”

Dimitri’s tone was not one of hope. He did not imply that this was merely a temporary set up, though their immediate jump from kissing to sex was suggested otherwise. In fact, Claude had sensed a hesitation behind the boy’s words, a nervousness that was seldom new and had been in fact swelling in his lover for some time. An apprehension he didn’t really share until now.

Claude actually found himself smiling painfully at this, to think that his Lion that thought so feverishly about their little situation. Naturally, Dimitri was also so seriously—he wasn’t like his friend Sylvain or Claude himself who could make the distinction between a causal experience and something deeper. Everything was so pure with Dimitri that no doubt, he wouldn’t recognize it otherwise unless told directly.

Claude chucked reassuringly and cupped the boy’s warm cheek, thumb caressing loving near his lips. “Do you want it to just last the year?”

“I...well, I thought maybe...”

“That you and I would continue this after we leave Garreg Mach, right? Were you that hopeful, my lion? Aren’t you such a sweet little thing.”

Dimitri’s heart was beating violently—Claude could feel it against his own. He smiled and leaned in to kiss his lover’s nose; their eyes met, dark green against glassy blue.

“I love teasing you, Dima. You’re so cute when you’re about to cry. Of course, I would love to see this work somehow after Garreg Mach—did you think this was a fling?” He cooed playfully.

“I didn’t know what to think honestly. Everything was moving so fast,” Dimitri murmured.

“Honestly, that’s my fault. We should have danced and eaten first before jumping right into it. But you know what, I don’t regret it at all.”

“Me neither.” Dimitri peered up at Claude, eyes glazed over with such a deep affection, he could drown in it. “I hadn’t felt that good in so long, really.”

Claude laughed. “I’m glad I could be of service. But from the sounds of it, I’m not your first.”

“I’m not good like Sylvain but I did try a long time ago with someone special—we don’t talk about it anymore.”

“Is that so?” _Was it Felix?_ “Then, what would make this so different than then?”

Dimitri’s hand reached over, searching for Claude’s until their fingers intertwined. As Claude found out, the boy found comfort in hand-holding, even in the privacy of their own room. “I want to be with you.”

_There it is._

Claude squeezed his hand. “Same here, love. Didn’t I tell you on the hilltop—I like you very much so.” With his other hand, he traced the deep red scar left engraved from Dimitri’s shoulder to collarbone. “This will never heal properly and I’m happy it won’t—it’s a symbol that you’re mine and mine alone. Every time you look in the mirror, you will think of me.”

The pair was so enamored by their presence that they had momentarily forgotten that it was early morning—probably three am, with the temperate close to frost. Dimitri pulled a blanket to cover their bodies and leaned into the warmth, closing his eyes. They laid there, listening to each other’s soft breathing, and the quiet hum of the Golden Deer dormitory.

Claude stared up at the ceiling, relishing in a rare moment without heavy thought, heavy consideration—just relaxing in the moment, without any duty or worry at all. Neither Rhea nor Seteth could reach him here, nor the ugly thoughts of his own memories. Just him and Dimitri, in a world for them.

“Are you...nervous about tomorrow?”

_Capture the Flag—my, how this month passed by so quickly._

Claude closed his eyes. “Not sure how I’m feeling. It’s a lot of work just looking at everyone no less guiding them along to play an ultra version of an elementary school recess game.”

Dimitri chuckled. “I know what you mean. I just hope Sylvain doesn’t upset Felix or does something foolish around Ingrid.”

“You grew up with them, right? How did that go? It’s pretty cool that all four of you ended up here at once.”

“Should I consider myself lucky? I didn’t want them to end up here regardless.” Dimitri sighed. “They are my family, of course. Sylvain was basically my older brother, but even back then, he was still very loose. Ingrid was always the strongest of all us—I used to hide behind her every time there was trouble. And Felix.” He paused, taking in a deep breath, physically shuddering against Claude’s chest; the other boy waited. “Felix and I had been together since we were babies—I knew him long before Edelgard came into the picture.”

_Before the iron princess?_

Claude could not help himself but frown at this. “He...has quite an interesting personality.”

“Forgive him—he’s not cruel, I promise. He hasn’t been the same since his brother died. He was also there when the car...”

“I understand,” he said, holding back the tension in his voice. He didn’t want to walk Dimitri down memory lane again, of losing his parents, of being the sole survivor of a clear assassination attempt. He rubbed circles in Dimitri’s spine and said, “Still, he’s awfully protective of you, don’t you think?”

“He’s like that with all of us—it’s not just me.”

“Really? You haven’t once thought in your life that he could be a tad bit overprotective—you haven’t felt suffocated at all?”

The boy blinked and lifted his gaze up inquisitively to Claude, brows drawn together tightly. “Did...Did Felix say something to you?”

Claude chuckled lightly as if to dismiss the seriousness of the situation. He could tell Dimitri of their nasty encounters so far—but he wanted to avoid dragging the raven-haired boy directly into their relationship. Not that Claude was planning on keeping that as an option anytime soon.

“No—did Felix tell you anything?”

Dimitri shook his head. “He hasn’t been talkative since Glenn died. But he did want to talk to me privately after Gronder tomorrow—I’m kinda nervous. We haven’t had a one-on-one in so long. I wonder if I did something wrong...”

Claude stopped. “He wanted to talk to you in private?”

“Yeah. Said it was important. That’s why I’m so nervous—he’s never been one to approach me.”

Tomorrow after Gronder? There isn’t enough time. For the first time, Claude’s heart was beating from something else other than excitement. He was praying that Felix had already told Dimitri and that the boy had already made up his mind to ignore any warnings when he showed his usual friendliness without any trepidation. When Claude was called down to a late-night visitor, he had assumed the worst of the storm had passed—that he wouldn’t need to worry about Felix in the same way he was able to pass over Edelgard.

Clearly he was wrong and had overestimated Felix’s intentions from the beginning. How would Dimitri react? Would he shun him? Be disgusted with him? It was not as though Dimitri had not killed people, but he greatly valued family—Edelgard was proof of this. If he found about Almyra, then everything was set to crash.

And Felix was not Lorenz—he did not seem like the type to be so overwhelmed with reputation; if anything, this simply meant that dealing with Felix had no alternatives. Maybe except one.

Claude’s fingers twitched around the back of Dimitri’s neck unconsciously, feeling the boy squirm slightly in his grip; he kept his straight gaze to the ceiling as Dimitri began to pepper his chest with playful bites, clearly meant to stir him. Yet no excitement came even as he felt the boy’s tongue trail and suck on his nipples, tasting the salty skin around his neck and shoulders.

Everything felt cold and empty, and Claude’s head was somewhere else other than here. While Dimitri was pressed against him, he was on Gronder—looking outward to the forest, and the clash expected for tomorrow. The details were not so hazy for him to pass over, and he knew exactly what he wanted. Exactly what was to be expected. And he did not feel a damn thing about it.

A strong hand traveled down and clasped over Claude’s limpness; Dimitri buried his nose in the nape of the other boy’s neck, shuddering loudly.

“Claude...can we...”

Finally, as if awoken from a shallow nap, Claude’s green eyes, darken with thought, riveted to the shivering boy on top of him. He couldn’t smile, even if he tried—everything felt numb and lifeless. Instead, he patted Dimitri’s arm and murmured against his ear without any passion or affection.

“Get on your fucking back.”

The boy shuddered, never once sensing how far away Claude’s voice was.

______________________

Perhaps it was always a thing with Claude, the appeal of watching a human face contorted with an array of emotions from just the things he said and did. It started with his father who peered at his son in absolute, unbridled shock during storytime; to think that what he said had a personal sway over the man at all.

Of course, this need to witness the manipulation of emotions manifested greater after Ivory left, after his cousins let her loose into the streets and under the wheel of a passing car. Her flatten body against the hot pavement, tongue out and purple—Claude needed to see everyone’s faces as he torn down and twisted everything in front of them. It was one of the few things that truly made him feel anything at all, a genuine sensation and not a forced feeling for the sake of preservation. It was like an electric shock that vibrated down his spine, forcing him to feel every single thing from his head to his feet.

And it felt wonderful.

But it was not like Claude actively chased this feeling. It came when the opportunity presented itself, and those moments were very precious to him. A treat once in a while in a world that expected him to behave kindly and smile, even when his own tormentors were his family.

And then Claude saw one of his cousins cry when he pushed the boy down against the sidewalk. He then scrapped his knee, blood intermingling with torn skin and dirt. Tears trailed down the boy’s face as he wailed and held his leg to his chest. Everyone was white and clambering—someone called to grab Claude’s mother.

Claude, on the other hand, could only stare in awe at his injured cousin. The hot tears of sheering pain, the blood, the expression of raw grief. He felt a tightness in his pants he did not understand and sat on his bed that night—grounded for the week—staring up at the ceiling and imagining that face once again. It was though, at that moment, he could chase feelings through his cousin’s tears and cries of pain. Through emotions aligning with absolute grief.

After that, his world had begun to make sense.

It was four am in the morning.

Everyone was asleep.

And Dimitri was groaning with gritted teeth, biting into his lips as Claude violently fucked him against the headboard. His wrists were bound together and tied to the bed pole above him; his legs were spread out open and pushed against his sticky chest. Claude’s hot cock sunk into him deeply, pulling out—slick and twitching—before slamming back into him again without mercy. Wet skin against wet skin in noisy claim—a pace that went on without hesitation.

Dimitri was close to crying again but kept everything still beneath his throat—afraid of waking up the Golden Deer house members.

Claude, on the other hand, was not feeling polite.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he growled as he stared down at his lover’s face. He thrusted harder, nearly pushing Dimitri’s head into the headboard. “You feel that—how well your hole takes me in? Fucking slut, you’re made for no else than me.”

“Y-yes...”

“Yes, what?” He hissed; his hand left Dimitri’s thigh and went straight for the boy’s throat. He squeezed tightly and leaned in close. “I need to hear you—yes what?”

Dimitri’s tears broke though; he was gasping for air as Claude rocked into him brutally—overstimulation and pleasure merging into each other as his cock bounced against his stomach from the rough fucking; everything was hot and sheering, building at the pit of his stomach. He needed to touch—relieve himself, but his hands were held back.

“What, could you repeat that?” Claude’s hand tightened as he angled his cock and fucked deeper into the boy, feeling how Dimitri clenched up around him.

“Yes...sir...”

“Who the fuck do you belong you?”

Dimitri’s cock needed to be touched—it was begging to be touched; he couldn’t breathe as hot tears tore down his heated cheeks; Claude pounded roughly, wet sounds filling the room, with no sign of stopping—and then he struck it. Dimitri gasped lightly, murky eyes widened to blindness.

“Y-you, sir!” he cried, shaking.

Claude chuckled darkly. The sweat coated his bangs wet and drops dripped down to Dimitri’s face. “And this body, this hole, who is it made for?”

The boy’s body was being physically rocked and bounced as Claude impaled him fully, and pounded slowly against his prostate. The heat excruciatingly violent, eating him inside out.

“Faster, faster...please...”

“Who—does—your—body—belong—to?!” Claude grunted roughly, fucking him upon very syllable, forcing his cock through the slick walls and up against his Lion’s prostrate. The bed was shaking, threatening to collapse.

Dimitri cried out into a choked sob. “You, sir, you! By the goddess, please fuck me! Take me! Fucking use me!”

Claude instantly snapped his hips and growled like a beast; he set out in a brutal near violent pace, fucking Dimitri so roughly that the legs of the bed gave out and send them down on to the floor in a small crash—but he didn’t stop. Instead, he choked Dimitri harder and fucked him into the new low mattress frame.

The boy was screaming through his tightened throat, body shaking from the slap of Claude’s relentless hips—everything stung and brimmed with pleasure; he was practically sobbing from the over stimulation, shaking his head when Claude let out of his other thigh and began to stroke his large, twitching cock quickly. Tears soaked his pillow, and he wailed into the cold air as he felt the other boy, somehow, thrusting faster and harder into him. He was babbling like a madman— _fuck me, please fuck me, faster, harder—I can’t handle it anymore, please, stop, please, I’ll explode, it’s too much!_

Dimitri’s hot cock shivered in Claude’s grip and finally exploded with spent, hot streams of cum hitting both of their bodies. He cried out murder as Claude stroked it empty, and continued to thrust through the orgasm. He felt his own cock twitching against Dimitri’s walls and gave one big thrust, bottoming himself deeply into the boy’s guts.

But Claude continued to fuck through it as though he never lost any of his earlier vigor; the entire time, his face was laser focused on Dimitri’s, watching him intently. The boy’s face was more than destroyed, blue eyes hazy with a blindness—too far gone for reason. Hot tears coated his cheeks wet, mixed in with cum, and even bits of blood from his earlier biting. He was panting, the pain visible on his skin—his throat marked purple with Claude’s killing fingers.

Dimitri began to mutter a mantra—a prayer, too soft to hear to the God above as Claude fucked the limp, weary body for another hour. To sate the dull, burning anger at the back of his head.

Once everything was done and commenced, Claude collapsed against Dimitri—who had long passed out from the session. His body was covered in sweat, heaving for air; He moved his head and pressed long kisses on the boy’s red shoulder scar, left behind by that fateful day.

A grumble of a man possessive ebbed through him, a beast chained by madness and distress.

_Mine, mine, mine._

______________________

It was a day without rain or snow.

Blue skies and white clouds—a rarity in late autumn. The day was so clear that Claude could see the very top of the cathedral from where he stood with the Golden Deers, jutting out into the horizon like a beacon. The wind, while frosty as usual, was simply a gentle breeze without much passion.

Overhead, he spotted two things in the horizon that made his heart lurched up: towards the end of the field in the open, settled on a low hill was Black Eagle banister, blood-red against the sky and fluttered softly. On the other side towards the forest on the highest point, the Blue Lion’s flag, showcasing their signature royal blue out for the world to see. Claude looked back over to his own house banister, golden and looming over the heads of the anxious students.

On a hill a bit off from the three, stood the wardens. Claude could never forget the bright green of their hairs; Rhea’s long flowing locks shone in the sun, like clovers in meadow. Seteth stood next to her, whispering something to his companion—there was a red blow horn in his hand. Flayn stood on the other side, the small woman jotting something down on her notebook.

_Remember the rules well: If you ever played Capture the Flag before, this will be simple. Each house has as a flag they must defend while also trying to obtain the flags of the other houses. Every person has a sash wrapped around their waist representing their team colors—if this sash should be taken by anyone outside of your team when you’re outside of your territory—like attempting to obtain a flag, for example, you’re out of the game. No violence whatsoever! The house with all three flags wins!_

_Miss Flayn, what should the reward be if we win?_

_Well, that’s the fun part! I convinced my father to let the winning house go free from group therapy for three weeks!_

Three weeks of rest from Seteth. Three free Mondays. That was enough to even get Hilda to amped up for the game—her ‘war’ make up plan on her face. She had to look cute when she’s about to throw down, as the woman claimed earlier. The rest of the Golden Deers stood nervously, serious expressions plainly on their face. Lysithea put her hair up and wore some comically large climbing boots as Claude had requested earlier. Raphael was stretching, with his sleeves folded up his biceps. Ignatz was still trying to secure the sling he had made earlier, tightening the strap. Leonie, especially, still had a bit of dirt on her cheek from heavy digging earlier. Lorenz had put on his running shoes—which surprised everyone for they did know he had running shoes and was stretching on the grass. And Marianne, the demure doll, had tucked her hair into a bun and tapped the soles of her own sneakers together.

The Golden Deer’s secret weapon.

They all stared at Claude in wait, the house president him equipped with some climbing gloves, tough sneakers, and most importantly—at least to him—a dark face mask. He brought it down to his neck and regarded his housemates kindly, nodding with some strength.

Then the blow horn rang across the field like a siren. Colors took off across the green field.

______________________

The night before Gronder was perhaps one of the more tense moments they all shared together, even over their terrible camping escapades. Claude spent four hours thinking this plan into action with his housemates right beside him. Different ideas were thrown on the table, many of which stuck, though he himself wondered if it would work against the iron princess’ house of well sheltered future politicians and Dimitri’s house of intense northerners. Eventually, they would all have to cross paths, and the Golden Deers could not stay stationary for too long.

The first thing Claude did was have Lysithea ascend a nearby tree for sight over the battlefield—her insight and directions were valuable, and she would prove to be a good spotter for any incoming invaders. At base, Hilda and Ignatz would stay, the former being a good wall in case any of them should make it past the woods and the former, shooting down some leaf traps marked in the trees.

By the main hiking trail, Raphael would settle down and begin pushing trees down, blocking the road in order to enforce the detour through the woods. That was where Leonie came in, already had placed snares and pits with a few heavier traps around the edge of the forest by a steep, jagged cliff—Claude was keeping his eye on that area. She and Lorenz would then work together and give the other team some distractions for the true winner of the Golden House: Marianne. The soft-spoken, quiet girl who seldom spoke to many, would take flight behind the chaos and snatch the flags without anyone’s notice.

Claude ran this plan through his hair at least five times. But there was a difference between an idea in preparation and the actual thing. And Claude stayed back on base, awaiting his moment, as Raphael, Leonie, and Lorenz—god let him stick to plan—left his sight and ran down the hill of the forest.

Marianne stopped right behind him—it wasn’t ripe for her to start running yet, at least with the Black Eagles and the Blue Lions engaging each other. Their banners were still up, with flashes of red and blue intermixing the middle.

Then the Golden Deers heard the distinctive crash, a small rumble in the woods, with birds flying out towards the sky. Lysithea, settled on top of the tree, began barking orders—runners spotted in the woods after Raphael cut off the main road. With little time, they would be trapped by the snares or fallen into the pits. Ignatz immediately went to work by ascending a tree near Lysithea, slingshot in hand and perched himself on a high branch.

Hilda fixed her hair—ironed for the occasion, applied an extra coat of lipstick, opened up her blouse a bit before sauntering off towards the edge of the hill—no doubt ready to snatch some sashes of passing runners if they were able to get this far.

But Claude waited.

He always waited. And he watched as Leonie and Lorenz’s colors slowly disappeared in the forest, heading towards the Black Eagle’s territory on the hill.

Once he was sure they were at least near the border of Edelgard’s territory, he gently tapped Marianne’s shoulder. She clenched her fists together in a show of rare bravery, nodded to Claude, and trotted off to the Blue Lion’s territory. That was Claude’s moment to leave, heading off towards a tree overlooking the hill where the blue banister hung.

“I’m off,” he said breathlessly to Raphael who returned from his heavy pushing. Claude winked a bit before slinking off towards the edge of the forest by the cliff, where the land blended into the Blue Lion’s woods. If Marianne listened carefully and was able to run fast enough, he would be able to catch her small retreat here as planned.

He had a special assignment for her and he would work to see it through.

______________________

Hilda got Sylvain and Ferdinand first.

Claude noticed them slinking back, cheeks rather fuzzy with embarrassment towards their base. No doubt the Goneril daughter’s charms proved too much for them. He sat, perched on a tree branch at the edge of woods, listening to Lysithea point out more runners in the forest.

Leonie and Lorenz—surprisingly, had not been caught yet, though Claude kept track overhead of the flashes of yellow intermixing with blue and red. Everyone fighting each other in the middle where all three territories met, a free-for-all that swirled colors like a crayon box.

None of the banners have moved yet, though there were a few moments were the Blue Lions banister and the Black Eagle banister moved a few inches before being placed back onto pedestal. No sign of Marianne yet, but he had no doubt of the woman’s careful nature.

Claude’s ears perked up to yelps in the forest, students stuck on Leonie’s snares and fallen into her dirt pits. Those traps were temporary but it would be enough for Raphael to ascend upon them. But was not that was not what he was worried about. He was still waiting patiently for his moment, waiting for Marianne to make her move as Leonie began to cause havoc around the Blue Lion territory.

Lysithea rang happy praises to Ignatz as he was able to snatch the flag of a girl named Petra—she cursed in a language no one understood and trudged off to the Black Eagle base. Hilda began to play tango with another student.

But nothing happened yet; merely senseless chaos flooding into each other, all together. Every one was blind to the world around them, focused on both each other and the sudden invasion of the other houses. It was always important to stay calm in a situation, even if Claude was getting dizzy from all the fighting.

Then he saw it: towards the Blue Lions’ territory, where their members had spread out widely among the Black Eagles and Lorenz—who was giving a good chase of cat and mouse, he saw the royal blue banister move. It moved an inch—hesitation? And then, it began to fly across the sky.

Lysithea started screaming at her post excitedly.

“Run, Marianne, run!”

Claude pulled himself up to the highest point and tracked the banister frantically scurrying around the confused crowd and back into the forest of the Golden Deers, with the flash of blue sashes after her. It would not be long before they would fall into Leonie’s traps but that wasn’t what Claude was worried about.

He was betting on the lone wolf to give chase.

Sure enough, as the flag got closer to where Claude’s hidden spot in the trees, he saw one lone blue sash left trailing after Marianne—the poor woman panting and running for her life, half crying out of excitement and fear—her persuader marked with a head of raven hair and sunset eyes. Claude prompted, threw his hoodie up with his mask secured, and traced the banister as it fled past his post and out towards the hill.

Then he heard the swipe of snare going off, leaves rustling with movement.

Claude cracked his knuckles and hopped down from the tree, a predator on a hunt.

______________________

The air horn blew loud over the Gronder, once the flags of the Black Eagles and Blue Lions nestled triumphantly on the hilltop of the Golden Deers. Marianne, the MVP, huffing and puffing against the chest of Hilda as the pink-haired beauty kissed her and threw the girl up into the air, cheering.

A small circle formed around the girl, lifting her up, and giving a cry in victory.

Claude walked up to the house and joined them with a small smile; he slapped the dust out of his hands and gave a thumbs up when Marianne looked at him.

Seteth and Flayn came over to congratulate them, and the entire hour, everyone spent in merry and cause—even Edelgard who had put up a good fight, congratulated Claude for his strategy, her entire house behind her covered in dirt and twigs. It seemed like many of them got caught in the pits after all. 

The princess, herself, looked rather ruffled, with her long brown hair thrown in different directions—clearly having tackled a few students here and there. She bowed to Claude, even abandoning any reluctance she had earlier, and the two leaders chatted pleasantly among themselves.

Everyone was patting each other on the back, the Golden Deers certainly pleased with having three weeks off to themselves. Marianne especially was the most overwhelmed, having been hailed as the victor of Gronder. It was hard to tell if she was having a panic attack or an emotional celebration.

And then Claude saw it, the flashes of blue coming up towards the hill. And what was meant to be a momentous occasion of rejoicing between three houses, began with a heart-stopping yell.

“Seteth!”

The green-bearded nun spun around, his wide smile immediately dropped open, absolutely taken back in utter shock. Flayn cried out, her shrill voice piercing the sky, and everyone stopped in their chatter to look over. And just like that, a wave of anxiety washed over the students and the good mood died away.

The only noise was the Fódlan winds, blowing through the loose raven hair, matted with blood.

Claude watched coolly from afar.

“What...what happened,” Seteth said, unable to find the strength to yell; his words came out in an utterance as audible gasps hissed from the crowd. Flayn covered her mouth, stifling a cry.

The first thing Claude saw was the limp body of Felix cradled in the strong arms of Sylvain. Even from here, he could see the blood spilling at the back of his head and coating most of his clothes in a deep brown-red—sheering through the white fabric as though it were coursing through water. The boy’s eyes were closed, skin paling by the second. _Was he breathing_? It was hard to tell, but he was so still that Claude was sure he was dead.

Sylvain, on the other hand, was having a mix between a mental breakdown and an anxiety attack, eyes brimming with angry tears. Behind him, the rest of the Blue Lions stood, paled faced—some even crying into other’s arms.

Then there was Dimitri.

The house president of the Blue Lions stood near Sylvain. He, too, was coated in blood, red staining his cheeks and hair. But it was strange, how exceedingly calm he was—staring straight ahead coldly. Only Claude and Edelgard noticed how heavily he was breathing, shoulders rising and falling with great effort.

“W-We found him, lying at the bottom of the cliff—by the forest. Dimitri and I, we—“ Sylvain stuttered, his gaze so out of focus that he didn’t know where to look.

“No, no, don’t say anymore—we have to get him to Manuela now. No, we have to call an ambulance. Father, we need to get help.”

“Agreed,” Seteth said breathlessly and spun around, a fit of rare desperate anger never shone before, screamed at the students with his hands up. “Everyone, please return to your respective dorms! Not a person left behind! Edelgard, Claude, please escort your houses back home. We will update you with more information when we get it.”

With a nervous murmur, the students began to move away from the field; Edelgard was watching Dimitri helpless, her body shifting from running over to him and moving with her house. At the last second, the princess broke off from the crowd and threw her arms around her unmoving brother. She whispered something into his ear, shaking a bit to see if he would respond. After Dimitri gave a controlled nod—eyes still drawn somewhere else, she moved away and went off to join the others.

Claude felt as Hilda pulled him along, but his gaze was still centered on the Blue Lions. Sylvain, who was usually so cool up until now, gave in and started crying; he brought Felix’s bloody head up to his cheek and leaned against the boy in grief. Blood spilled between his fingers as Seteth and Flayn ushered them to move. Dimitri eventually followed the group, feet dragging against the grass like some soulless doll.

They ran off to the administration building, red and blue lights blaring out from across the way—Rhea waiting in the distance, her hands clasped together in a nervous prayer.

Claude finally turned to join his house; a faint ghost of a smile touched upon his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hot damn this chapter was long and hard (hehe shut up) Also, if yall didn't know it by now, Claude is not a good person. I always wanted to write him in a terrible light. 
> 
> Is it out of character? Think of it again as an extremely dark Claude AU where all of his underhanded characteristics are turned up to eleven. Also, Dimitri here is definitely a bottom--we need more bottom Dimitri energy, man. 
> 
> I could never imagine the day where I sit down and type up smut with the most bored expression on my face. Honestly, every sex scene here is just a way to highlight Claude's darker side. Is Felix dead? I dunno--well, I do, but yall won't find out until the next chapter. 
> 
> I'm taking a break next week to work and publish a standalone short (not really short) story for Felix and Dimitri because they're my sons. BTW, yes every story I write is gonna be mega dark with terrible themes. I'm super glad you all are here, dealing with my terrible shit XD 
> 
> Follow my sad butt for updates at https://twitter.com/Meatbike344


	7. The Weight of the King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude gets thrown into an investigation; the weight becomes a bit too much; he makes a final decision

_**Regarding Felix Fraldarius’ Status** _

_  
To all house presidents,_

_We know the incident at Gronder last week has gotten everyone worried and there are many questions right now. Allow me to dispel fears now with some good news: Felix Fraldarius (Blue Lions) has been admitted to the Remire hospital and he is in stable condition. The doctors believe he will recover in due time—however, this brings us some sad news. Because of the severity of his injuries, Felix will not be joining us for the rest of the school year._

_Please inform your respective houses and reassure them that Felix will recover and that they should continue their rehabilitation as normal. During times of crisis, it is always good to engage in a discussion of such sensitive topics with the community. Support each other and know that this will pass._

_Our doors are always open for anyone who needs to talk—even whole houses as well. We can engage in some healthy conversations about this during Monday’s therapy (expect Golden Deers for three weeks)._

_As for any concerns regarding Felix’s injuries, we have determined that it was an unfortunate accident during Capture the Flag. We will do all we can to improve the safety of the school so this may never repeat. Rest assured, everyone is safe here._

_Sincerely,  
Rhea & Seteth_

  
Claude’s fatal mistake was forgetting where he was. Perhaps it was not easy for many to disregard the fact that Garreg Mach was not just a boarding school, but a rehabilitation facility at that. One that pride itself on nearly one hundred years of mental health and correctional behavior.

Of course, the school’s reputation in the modern-day was much skewered from its noble status back in the day. Claude had already recognized it as a place where broken children were dumped off to be fixed through religious activity circles and sharing feelings, rather than electric shock therapy and lobotomy—the old norms back then, not surprisingly.

The students here, no matter sweet and sincere they may seem, were all screw-ups to someone in one way or another. Be it anger issues that evolved into an intolerable force or life choices that had been corrected by the hand of the institution rather than parental love.

But those students had common difficulty problems—many which can be redeemed and shaped into a ‘new’ and ‘better’ person. These students can return to society, welcomed back with open arms as though they never left to begin with.

And then there were students whose problems run much deeper than poor life choices. Their issues begin at the mind, rooted so deeply that only intense therapy, medication, and other institutional aid could help bring peace.

And then, there were students that type and more. Students so afflicted by their detachment from reality and the sense of their broken minds, usually from a traumatic event, that they were practically teetering between the line of sanity and insanity.

As Claude found out, Dimitri was in the very last party. But he would not know this until the night after Felix’s accident.

Claude always understood to a certain extent the guilt the young man carried upon his shoulders every day. And unlike Edelgard, who characterized her actions as an act of self-preservation, which Claude could sympathize with, Dimitri did not hide his self-loathing whenever the past was brought up. He mourned, appeared distraught, and fell into a soft mood of solemness that made him lethargic.

While Edelgard sipped tea and spoke plainly on her murder of their uncle, Dimitri was mentally beating himself up on the things done by his hand. But perhaps, it was these two intricate natures that made it necessary for the siblings to stay together—one nature always marching forward, and another too stuck in the past; rationale and emotion.

And then there was Claude, the observer. Of course, in Garreg Mach, there were no observers. Just participants.

And Claude, no matter how badly he tried to convince himself of his wrongful placement here at the school, belonged here just as much as the other two house presidents. And it was not until Felix’s fall that he had finally realized the abnormality of his situation.

At the school where students cried and prayed for the recovery of their peer, Claude felt nothing, truly—detached, even. Far away. Like a bystander watching a car accident.

And perhaps, a bit confused at all of the commotions; Felix was okay albeit, unable to return to the school, and while Claude felt some satisfaction at his rival unable to come back, he struggled to comprehend everyone’s sorrow.

Which lead him to Dimitri.

Since Felix’s accident, the Blue Lion house president had shown up at Claude’s bedroom door every night—usually after everyone was asleep. He stood there, half-dressed in a t-shirt and boxers, clearly having walked here from his dormitory. His eyes were dark with a lack of sleep, hair a bit ruffled. And Claude would not say anything, merely stepping aside wordlessly for Dimitri to step in.

Neither of them spoke; once the door closed, Dimitri would fall onto the bed, curled up in a little ball. Claude shut off the lights, lowered himself next to the boy, and held him tightly until sleep came.

When the morning came, he awoke to an emptiness between his arms, the absence of Dimitri’s body greatly missed. This continued every night leading up the faithful evening of Seteth’s letter placed on the kitchen counter for Claude.

The talk with his housemates was a bit tense, especially with Marianne crying. She believed so deeply that she was the cause of Felix falling over the cliff. Everyone comforted the girl, with Claude even stating that Marianne was running nowhere near the edge for him to fall off.

The talk with Dimitri was a whole other matter. It started the same: he showed up after the entire house went to bed, in a different shirt and boxers, eyes slanted to the ground. Claude brought him in, laid him down, and cuddled together in bed, waiting for sleep to come. Except it never came.

Dimitri, in a rare break from their new and unusual routine, muttered something against Claude’s neck, just loud enough for them to hear.

It was midnight nearing towards one in the morning, and Dimitri said, “he was my first.”

Claude did not need to ask what he meant. Instead, a hot, stinging pain tinged at the pit of his stomach, churning violently; he rubbed small circles around Dimitri’s palm and closed his eyes.

“Do you love him?”

Dimitri’s breathing was always so irregular during these nights. But for the first time, his breaths came out soft and controlled—he found familiarity in his memories and the feelings he had of that time.

And of the now.“Yes. I do love him. But not in the way I feel about you.”

Claude’s breathing hitched tightly. “What about back then?”

“We were young. It felt like...nothing when it happened. A bit painful, but nothing. But Felix is still my brother—I don’t know what I would do without him.”

Family. Claude had already made note that this was something the boy clung to feverishly. It was precious to him, kept him chained to the realm of reason. If yanked away, he would be unable to fully comprehend the plane of his being and tethered far into the spectrum.

Rendering him privy to the mercy of outside kindness. Claude always found such people like Dimitri to be the easiest to talk around—to pull apart and mold, only because they wore their hearts on their sleeve.

Even now, Claude suppressed a throbbing need to continue his mental domination, stopped by the same, disruptive, and burdening feelings of guilt once more. If he could incapacitate anything, it would be this nagging emotion.

“He’ll be okay, Dima. He’s a fighter—you know that,” Claude murmured.

He brought his hand beneath the boy’s loose shirt, fingers running along the soft pale skin, the curve of the spine imprinted on the back. Dimitri was always so cold to touch, even when their bodies were pressed together.

Claude figured folks from the northern part of this damned country would naturally be a bit chilly, in both temperament and blood. While Dimitri was far from being aloof, he certainly radiated a coolness that often surprised Claude every time they touched.

Tonight, it was as though he were hugging a dead body.

“It’s funny—we have always been together since we were babies. Our fathers were childhood friends too. I suppose it’s more of a tradition for our families,” he muttered with a keen bitterness Claude did not dare to question. “After the bomb, things became complicated, to say the least. I never expected Felix to show up here. Neither Sylvain nor Ingrid.”

Did they not show up together? Then again, it was only Dimitri and Edelgard who were sent here after their uncle found out. Claude’s lips stretched to a thin line, to know the inconvenience of having all of Dimitri’s childhood friends here in one place. The protective lot.

“Felix and the gang showed up later, huh? Is your group usually so troublesome?”

“Not typically no. Ingrid definitely doesn’t belong here. But Felix had gotten himself into a string of nasty fights and I think his father had enough. At least, that is what he told me,” Dimitri murmured lightly into the underside of Claude’s arm.

“It sounds like they just wanted to get in to keep an eye on you. Keep you safe,” the other boy said, brushing the bangs out from Dimitri’s eyes—their blue color was much paler now, almost sickly even.

“And now Felix has a crack in his head,” Dimitri whispered, voice as hushed as a ghost; his body curling up closer to Claude for warmth.

“Don’t—It wasn’t your fault. You cannot possibly be blaming yourself here.”

Don’t be sad; this will all be a passing dream soon—just a memory to look back on.

Claude turned on his side, facing Dimitri so he could throw his arm over the boy. He pressed their chests together, humming along to a lullaby unknown to Fódlan's tongue. Dimitri was much taller than him, broader with muscle, but he rarely exhibited his strength in Claude’s presence. It made things easier when the other boy wanted to be the one to make a claim.

He pressed a warm kiss on Dimitri’s eyelid and held him close, trying his best to ignore how limp his lover was—all energy and love gone, just a corpse with a ghost’s voice. Dimitri’s entire body looked paler than usual; Claude bundled the blankets over him more for warmth.

“You should sleep,” he cooed softly and ran his knuckle down Dimitri’s icy cheeks. “Staying up too long, thinking, is not good for your health.”

“Hypocrite,” the voice buried in Claude’s chest murmured. “I know you stay up later than me. You always watch me fall asleep.”

“Can you blame me? I want to make sure you get your rest. Not to mention, you’re quite a sleeping beauty,” he said, chuckling lightly.

“It’s hard to sleep alone.”

“Why so?”

Dimitri did not look at him, but his voice was direct enough to force Claude’s complete attention on him. The house creaked with noise and their soft, shared breathing.

“I...think a lot about the past. And the things I did—don’t you?”

“No. I sleep like a baby at night,” Claude said honestly.

Dimitri’s throat tightened.

“You’re not bothered by the things you did? At all?”

“Baby, the past is the past. Dwelling on it won’t change things now. Time stops for no one—gotta keep marching forward, I’d say.”

“I know that. It’s just...I don’t think I deserve to keep moving forward after everything. The only reason why I’m even around is because of El and my friends,” Dimitri muttered with his eyes closed. “Thoughts of the past haunt me, but thoughts of the future are scarier. I don’t know what will happen from here on out. Who is to say that I won’t lose another precious person? El and I want to attend different universities after Garreg Mach and the distance is something I never really experienced before.”

Claude said nothing to this. He stroked the boy’s back, staring right up at the ceiling—at the various cracks that aligned like the workings of a road map. How aimless it all seemed, the desperation and want for a purpose.

Edelgard, at least, already had a vision of what she wanted. As far as he understood, Dimitri was simply content with following. And what about him? Claude despised Fódlan but he also had no desire to return to Almyra. To them. Waiting there, ready to punish him with accusations and looks of pity.

No, there was no future in Almyra. But…

“What about you, Claude? What are you going to do after we leave?” Dimitri asked, his voice weak with sleep. He was struggling to stay up, but desperation kept him awake. An anticipation, which reminded Claude why he was so fond of the boy.

He hummed and closed his eyes. “Honestly? I might ask my grandfather if I can learn his trade. Work under him and my uncle at the family company. He was very forward with me when we first met about a personal internship.”

“Truly? You won’t go back to Almyra?”

“There’s nothing left for me there—not anymore. Might as well stay here in this country where I’m a stranger to someone.”

Suddenly, in the stillness of the early winter night, where the thin sprinklings of snow had long covered the campus in a layer of white—the windows frosted over from the night chill, a warm, breathy laugh emerged from Dimitri’s breast. His shoulders shook slightly, wrapping his arms around Claude’s neck, and pulled him in with a long sigh.

“I’m glad…you’re staying. We can visit each other, even if Derdriu and Fhirdiad are still far.”

Claude smiled ruefully. “Aren’t you an eager one?”

“It’s just...I really like you, Claude. These last few nights have kept me from going crazy since Felix’s accident.” He drew in closer, resting his head in the nape of the other boy’s neck—like pressing ice against a wound. “I want to do everything with you—I want to feel again. Feel something. Feel alive,” he shuddered, bringing his hand down to Claude’s inner thigh.

Claude already long sensed it, the wrecking grief in his lion’s voice. Desperation waved heavily, so apparent in the eyes of the beholder. It was always mourning that moved emotions to the extreme—swing back and forth on both ends of the spectrum without any favor for moderation.

Claude felt Dimitri’s urges since the first night, and in a rare moment of judgment, decided to resist indulging. For the first time since Almyra, he felt sick in celebrating his victory, especially when his eyes landed on the dark rings of Dimitri’s sleepless eyes.

And yet, the icy touch of the boy’s fingers lingering near his boxes incited a deep heat inside of him. Claude tapped the back of Dimitri’s back with a weary smile and nodded.

“I’m so tired, baby boy. But if you want to go ahead and have some fun, I’ll stay awake a bit longer.”

“I’ll do all the work,” Dimitri muttered breathlessly and forced himself upon the bed. Claude watched darkly as the boy slowly took his boxers off with shivering hands; his large cock out, pink and throbbing. “I just want to feel you inside of me.”

Claude licked his lips, breathing harshly. “You want that, baby? I’ll fill you up real good—you won’t be able to walk without leaking,” he grunted, quickly kicking off his boxers, arousal already pulsing hard with excitement. He always kept a bottle of lube by his bed as their tossing had become routine since the Autumn Ball, and coated his cock—stiffening at his own touch.

Dimitri’s breathing grew haggard and he lowered himself carefully down to Claude’s hips until he was fully impaled. His walls clenched tightly, feeling everything slick and twitching excitedly from within. Claude groaned—pained—from beneath the squirming boy, and gritted his teeth when Dimitri began to move in a slow rhythm.

Claude usually took it upon himself to completely and utterly dominate his lover with nights like this. He sent them both in a spiraling hot mess of spent and sweat, collapsed onto each other from the rough play. Of course, nights like this where Dimitri wanted to be the one to put in the most effort was the ones where Claude wanted to drag on forever—because his lion’s expressions were the most beautiful and raw.

His cock twitched physically in the tight wet heat of Dimitri’s walls as the boy sloppily bounced off Claude’s hips, gasping and already in tears. Every single emotion tore through him so visibly from this angle, the way his eyes widened with pain as he lowered himself deeply on Claude’s arousal; his cheeks flushed red and beads of concentrated sweat dripped down his brow; the way he bit his lip until blood was drawn. It was all there, presented for Claude like a gift carefully unwrapped and left out for the world to see.

“You’re doing so good, baby. If only you could look at yourself—such a pretty little whore,” Claude muttered, panting weakly. He brought his hands over and planted them on Dimitri's hips, forcing him down harshly—the boy choked with wide eyes and threw his head back to catch his breath.

Dimitri fell into a tearful, wet mess—his rhythm becoming more erratic and wild, practically piercing his entire body violently to chase his climax. Claude felt his own heat bunch up tightly at the base of his cock, swirling up against the tip as Dimitri rode on roughly.

“Did he see you like this? Taking you like an eager little cock sleeve?” He grunted further with a tired grin. His cock swelled up physically, and Dimitri shook his head—tears falling from his eyes. “Of course he did—you let anyone take you, slut. But I’ll fuck you real good—you’ll know no one else but me. You’re fucking mine."

Mustering any strength he had left, Claude bucked his hips upward, earning a sharp gasp from the boy above. Dimitri lost balance and threw his hands up momentarily only for Claude to latch his fingers around them.

He bore a straight, unwavering gaze, trusting up into the boy’s hot prostate, and watched Dimitri descend loudly into a pained sob—tears mixing with the drooling from his mouth. Skin slapping on skin, wet sounds filling the room, and they both viciously chased each other’s orgasm. Everything spilled out at once, white-hot flashes blinding their sights momentarily; Dimitri’s cum landed all over Claude’s stomach as he felt his own spent gushing upward into the boy. Some of it spilled out at the entrance as Dimitri rode out the rest of his orgasm and collapsed right on top of Claude.

Their sticky bodies synchronized deep breaths of exhaustion and both willingly allowed the darkness to fall upon them very quietly. This was the only morning where Claude woke up to Dimitri still in bed. Then again, neither of them bothered to leave for the entire day.  
______________________

It was not a surprise that Dimitri was not well enough to attend the house council meetings. Even in bed, he swayed constantly between mild delusion and sorrow, usually ending in an excessive need to be touched and held. But it was ultimately Edelgard who asked for him to take a week of rest, her voice more gentle and nurturing than usual.

Claude still found himself apprehensive to be left alone with her, however. And without Dimitri, the room soured bitterly with awkward tension; while the two house presidents were able to come to a place of cooperation, it was still strained without the middleman.

Today, especially, Edelgard seemed more on edge, her perfect image of clean authority shaken up with loose strands of hair all over the place and dark rings under her lilac eyes. When Claude finally walked through the door with his breath held for another awkward house council session, she spun around and pointed him rather excitedly; he jumped up as though she had a gun.

“You!” Edelgard declared loudly.

“Oh goddess, what did I do this time?” Claude asked, on hand still clenched on the doorknob for an immediate escape.

She shook her head rapidly and sat down. “Oh no, nothing at all. I just have something important to tell you,” Edelgard said with her body slightly jittery. There was no threat in her expression, just a wash of anticipation edging on her face—ready for whatever special information she had; a bomb shaking to go off.

Hesitatingly, Claude took a seat two chairs away from Edelgard—who then scooted closer as her chair was actually the computer chair they pushed to the corner of the room. When the princess’s elbow was practically touching Claude’s, she leaned forward with a narrowed gaze.

“Listen, do you remember Rhea and Seteth’s letter about Felix?”

Claude nodded, shifting back on his seat all the way with a nervous laugh. “Of course, my house had a rather intense talk about the whole nasty affair.”

Edelgard straightened into her seat, hands clasped tightly. “Yes well, the letter said that it was an accident, right? But I have been talking to a lot of people—doing a lot of thinking, and I believe that there’s more to this incident than meets the eye.”

“You don’t think Felix’s fall was an accident,” Claude said simply, controlled.

She nodded deeply. “It’s so easy to rule the whole thing as an accident—I doubt anyone at this school wants to put the effort in investigating into this matter when it’s more convenient to state that Felix probably fell off the cliff while running. But that is the thing—he would never fall off the cliff. I don’t know him as intimately as Dimitri, but I do remember that he was always so conscious of his surroundings. It seems...uncharacteristic of him to just fall off like that. Even Sylvain and Annette mentioned it to me afterward. The fact that there are suspicions alone rather than complete acceptance of the events, it means that there is a truth somewhere.”

“Which is...”

“Someone pushed Felix off the cliff. Whether that would be an intent to kill or by accident, his fall was by at the hands of another,” Edelgard concluded with a nod. “The fact that no one stepped up and confessed says enough—either fear of punishment kept them silent or...they intended to want Felix hurt or even dead, and they’re hoping this incident blows over.”

As Edelgard spoke, she never caught the intense, unwavering look in Claude’s eyes. He regarded her strongly, with a smile even he did not notice was stretchering across his face. It was this sensation again, of a challenge just more than overcoming a rival.

Edelgard was always, in every way, an opposing nature to Claude. From her ideologies and the very nature of her character, she existed to be his opposite. And perhaps, in this sense, Claude felt a thrill he earnestly chased after.

“You want us to play detective, princess?” He asked with an arched brow.

“If not us, then who else?” Edelgard declared, blinking. “What, you think Rhea and Seteth will hear us out? They already accepted their truth. But you and I, we can uncover what happened—and protect the school if there is someone out there this malicious.”

She stood up, brushing her hair out from all the crazy strands, and walked over to the teleprompter. It clicked and images flashed momentarily on the screen before settling on what Claude could only describe as a high-profile police cold case board with pictures of Felix, some members of the Blue Lions including Sylvain and Dimitri, and shots of Gronder field. Red arrows were pointing all over the place with a spreadsheet of notes and questions.

He stared at it in awe, riveted over to Edelgard, and swallowed.

“Did you...stay up late to make this?” He asked in a rare show for concern.

“It was necessary so we could keep track of our progress,” she replied with a twitching smile, seemingly pleased with herself. “Look, see, we can follow the steps of investigation and follow through until we achieve results.”

“But what if it turned out that it was an accident?”

“Then we will have peace of mind and so will everyone else. But if there is a truth, we’ll find.”

It was all too exciting, at least for Edelgard. What once started as a nervous fit revealed itself to be a strange form of relish, where the young woman was clearly enamored with this work. Claude leaned forward on the table, hands pressed together tightly.

“You seem rather eager to be investigating, princess. I take it you done this before?”

“No, I just watch a lot of detective shows,” she admitted sheepishly. “But do not mistake my enthusiasm for a lack of care for Felix. I sincerely believe he would never be so reckless and run off a cliff. I don’t think I ever have seen him trip before. He’s quite like a cat.”

Yes, he was—very much so.

Claude nodded with a feigned smile; he stared at Edelgard, suddenly realizing that the young woman was completely unguarded, revealing herself quite honestly to him without her usual wall of caution. Either it was from her grand plan to uncover an attempted murder plot or she sincerely began to believe in him. Even he had to admit, after the tea party before the Autumn Ball, Edelgard was much more serene and patient with him at all these house council meetings.

And Claude knew, this was her first mistake.

“Well then, detective, you just got yourself a partner—where do we start?” He asked, flashing a smile. “Should we start wiretapping conversations? Maybe pull a student or two for interrogations? Or should start putting random pins all over your crime chart there?”

“No, it’s too early for all that—well, could we wiretap? No, no, not yet,” she replied seriously and peered off to the side in deep ponder. Claude almost chuckled at how she did not even catch on to the teasing tone of his words.

“What about Dimitri? Should we get him on the team?”

“Claude, do you think my brother is in the right health for this? Besides, he’s too emotional.”

Agreed.

“So, what’s the plan, boss lady?”

Edelgard tapped a picture of Gronder field on the smart board.

“As is the first rule in every investigation—let us return to the scene of the crime.”  
______________________

It started like this: in a forest, with a sky too blue and the birds too chipper for a tragedy but as most Almyran folktales go, death chooses not on the day or time. It simply comes and goes with little say for the weather—an unsavory job but a chore nonetheless.

Claude’s memories were always of the day, nestled over the thick woods where he and his cousins camped every year. Looking over Gronder field now, he realized that there were no differences between his boyhood camping trips and the contained woods of Garreg Mach—just trees, bunched up tightly together, and spread outward to the distance. Always there, always hiding. Events that happen in the woods always come out disorientated and twisted, bits of truth left behind to rot with the moss.

And here, Claude stood under blue skies and white clouds, in a white forest and peered down upon the sight of a tragedy for the second time in his life.

The red detective, draped in a trench coat, which she quite possibly saved for an occasion of murder mystery, looked down at the shallow abyss from the rocky cliff. At the bottom was the slab of rock where the unconscious body was found, now a sprinkling of morning snow covering the top. Edelgard patted down the guard rail and shook her head.

“I knew it—I remembered there being a rail here. How could someone possibly run off the cliff with this in the way?” she asked, brushing the snow off the top with her finger. Claude stepped close to her and stared at the railing, his mind bouncing back on an earlier thought.

“It is awfully rocky here. Perhaps he lost his step and tripped over the railing?”

“But that’s the thing—the trail is over there. What business would he have been this far from the forest?”

“Maybe he stopped to recollect himself? To plan. He was awfully close to our hill—maybe a surprise attack?”

Edelgard hummed, staring down at the cliff below. “Either way, it seemed more likely that someone pushed him over the railing. Maybe fling over is the right work.” She looked over to Claude, eyes drawn over in a pondering state.

“Claude, wasn’t Felix chasing after Marianne?” Edelgard finally asked.

A click. “Marianne had both hands on the Blue Lion flag and kept running until she hit the hill. Lysithea was in the trees and watched her arrive at our hill,” Claude said automatically in plain scorn. He did not notice how angry he sounded until the girl’s eyes widened in surprise.

Claude pulled away and threw his gaze to the floor, nearly melting the snow from its unintended heat. It frightened him how loose he was with his own emotions as of late; once in a while, it spilled out from his mouth without control or ebbed painfully through his body like fire. He had a much better time handling is before Garreg Mach.

This school is poison.

“I’m sorry, I---”

“No, I should apologize. I did not mean to accuse Marianne, especially if there were witnesses,” Edelgard said, shaking her head. “I was just thinking of all the people Felix was seen interacting with that day.”

Claude nodded wordlessly, trying to compose himself.

“But you said that Lysithea was watching from a tree? So do you think she might have spotted Felix?” she asked.

“She only saw the banner going through the treetops. That’s how we know Marianne reached the hill,” he answered honestly.

_Where are you going with this, princess?_

Edelgard crossed her arms. “Do you think I could talk to Lysithea? Find out what she saw?”

Claude smiled ruefully, fingers at his side, twitching slightly. “By all means—go ahead,” he said with a feigned tone of agreement—he knew better than to say otherwise lest Edelgard would be suspicious. Besides, he knew for sure Lysithea could not see that far from her post other than the banner traveling through the woods. It was his plan, after all.

“Good,” Edelgard said, satisfied. “Here, I have a job for you while I go talk to some people. Hold out your hands.”

She dropped something small and metal in Claude’s outstretched palms. It was a silver key.

“The Blue Lion house will be away for the weekend with Seteth to visit Felix in the hospital. I need you to check out Felix’s room for any clues on if he has gotten into an altercation with anyone.”

“Why do you have his room key?”

“Sylvain gave it to me and asked for my help.”

“Why does Sylvain have Felix’s key?”

Edelgard stopped. The young woman trained her eyes on Claude with an open skepticism that he wondered if he had said something foolish. She gave a little derisive huff and turned away, bemused.

“Never mind. Would you be able to check out Felix’s room for this weekend? See if you could find anything?”

Claude clenched his fist tightly around the key, taking in the coldness of the metal. He smiled— _how convenient_ —and chuckled.

“I think I can put in a few hours.”

“Let us meet up this Sunday evening to share what we learned,” Edelgard said and brushed the bits of snow from her dress. “I’ll be going around and collecting some information.”

“Interrogating, boss lady?”

“Use softer euphemism, Claude—we don’t want to scare anyone now. I’m going to have a friendly chat with some classmates.”

Claude hummed softly, dropping a key into his pockets. “And I’m going to conduct a surprise exploration of a classmate’s room.”

“Exactly—you see? We can work well, together.”

 _As the shepherd with the wolf.  
_ ______________________

As Edelgard had stated, the entire Blue Lion house was gone for the weekend to visit Felix. Dimitri had mentioned it the night before in his sleep murmurs, with them returning in the late evening. The weekend would be strangely absent without him and Claude already knew Dimitri would be too tired to return to his side. A weekend alone, but at the very least, he could spend more time invested in Edelgard’s investigation.

It humored him, knowing he was taking part in unraveling a mystery where the answer was right in front of the detective the entire time. The princess does have quite a large sight for the future and her ambitions—it was only a shame she could not see the details around her; an eagle peering upward to the sky, unaware of the serpent hiding in the grass.

Claude only wondered how long Edelgard had intended to drag this investigation forward, and if she would ever accept that Felix’s fall was purely an accident. Knowing Garreg Mach’s princess, she had an iron will and blaze to march forward, which meant Claude had to find a way to end things now. But what if she did find out? Then she would tell Dimitri.

Claude hated unfinished business and Felix's survival was already annoying as it was, though he relished in the fact that young man was unable to return to the school. But if Edelgard found out about the truth of the fall, then that was it.

She would force his hand if it came to it and the unsavory business would just exhaust him all over again.

The Blue Lion house was naturally pitch black, even in the day. Someone had turned off all the lights and pulled down the curtains, making the already cold air of interior chillier, especially with how much more freezing the northern part of campus was. Claude snuck upstairs to the rooms, subconsciously pressing his weight against Dimitri’s door in a strange way to hear the absent voice inside. Felix’s room was right next to the house president and Claude unlocked the door and crept inside with a careful step.

Felix’s room was a surprise. Claude had expected some cold, bare room—without love or the presence of life, whatsoever. Instead, what he stumbled upon was a mixture between a college student’s dorm and a gym locker. The first thing he saw was wooden kendo swords all over the place, some broken and left in pieces, and others prompted against the wall. There were lots of pain ointments and wrappings for the hands, and some icy hot patches out on the bed. Aside from the obvious sports attire, what caught Claude’s eyes was the various photos around the room, taped to the wall near the bed.

Upon closer examination, it was a collection of photos from childhood. It did not take a genius to know that the recurring four children were Dimitri’s group from Sylvain’s wild red hair to Felix’s dark hair. Surprisingly enough, it took Claude a whole minute before he realized that the beautiful girl with long golden hair and sparkling blue eyes was Dimitri. He stared at the boy for an eternity, felt his face burn, and turned away from the bed sheepishly. Dimitri has always been pretty as it would seem.

Then Claude saw it. That picture. It was put off closest to the pillow, right at the head level. He did not have to lean in close to see that it was a picture of Felix and Sylvain as kids—sleeping on top of each other in bed.

 _Oh, so that’s what Edelgard meant_ , Claude thought and remembered the red head’s tears the day of the accident. If he found out, he too would seek retribution—another person to watch out for.

At the far back wall was a worn down calendar with some posters of country-wide kendo tournaments. Claude was not surprised if he had participated in them—Felix’s skill with a tree branch had left harsh welts all over his thighs and back that stung every time he moved.

And then there was the desk. He should have looked at this first. It was covered in sticky notes, hastily written down and stamped all over the place, and an open laptop. Claude leaned over and his heart stopped.

_Tiana von Riegan, daughter of…_

_Surprise marriage…_

_Written out of will…_

_Almyra…_

_Only one son…_

_Camping accident—_

Claude swiped all of the notes off the desk, scrambling them up into the palm of his hand. He snatched some more off the laptop and the walls, ignoring the familiar words scribbled hastily on each note. It bunched up into a ball in his hands, white from the pressure.

Claude stood in the middle of the room, unable to comprehend the ringing in his ears or how hot and heavy his breathing was—every breath pushing his shoulders up in a Herculean drawl. He blinked a few times and stared at different things around the room to ground himself. After a while, Claude took a deep breath and returned to his usual marks of calmness, trying to shake off the momentary bout of anger.

His green eyes drawn naturally back to the laptop. It was, surprisingly, not one of his grandfather’s models but the new Gloucester model—which meant it had the new Face ID security, which was a response to Riegan’s finger scan system. Claude groaned—unless he had a picture of Felix, he would not be able to get inside.

A picture.

Claude turned around and glanced over at Felix’s mural of childhood photos. He did not read up too well on what exactly the Gloucester model recognized for the Face ID but he had a sneaking suspicion that younger iterations of a person’s face did not count. Any current pictures Felix had of himself were obscured by his kendo faceguard or group shots that were too small to properly fool the camera.

It seemed like Felix now detested having any clear photographs of himself, opting to carrying pictures of childhood or his kendo tournaments.

And then, Claude saw a picture of a person he had never seen before. It wasn’t taped to the wall, but placed inside a frame left on the nightstand. When he pictured it up, his heart raced when he looked upon the calm, older face of Felix—except it wasn’t. This person, while sharing a deep and almost scary similarity, had a much softer and benevolent expression. And most importantly, rainy eyes as opposed to the harshness of Felix’s sunset. But other than that, it was easy to confuse the two boys together as one whole person.

Claude stared at the photo for what felt like an eternity, mind ticking forward in a single defining idea. Finally, he took it over and brought the frame up to the camera. It hummed a bit before clicking on, with the screen signing into Felix’s homepage—that boy in the photo holding a baby.

A swelling of pride touched Claude momentarily and he forced it down as he began to go through the search history; a not surprising list of sword on shopping sites, different techniques for kendo practice, and strange questions that made him wonder if the boy was socially impaired _—how to apologize to someone without looking stupid—how to give someone a gift without having to actually talk to him—how to deal with a clingy boyfriend expect he’s not my boyfriend—how to show someone you love them but without the sappy shit._

And then, a few searches of articles that made Claude stop altogether. _Almyran Sun Times. Leicester Techweek._

The articles popped up across the screen, images of forests, the profile of his mother and father, and the dilating, spiteful faces of his aunts and uncles—drawn together in a united collation of both grief and hate. After a moment of complete stillness, Claude deleted the articles from the history.

_He’ll find them again and show Dimitri—none of what I’m doing will make a difference. No, but he’s in the hospital and will not be able to return. They’ll pack up his things and send it back home—you just need to get rid of all this first. Maybe Felix will forget._

Claude stopped.

_He won’t forget. He survived and will bring it up to Dimitri again. But there is no proof—will Dimitri believe him?_

Claude did not need an answer. Without thinking, his arm shot out automatically to a water bottle on Felix’s desk and poured it all over the laptop. The Gloucester models were exceptionally shitty in their quality of survival—no water protection as expected, and the laptop sizzled a bit before shutting off completely to a black screen. He then dried it out and left it back on the desk just the way Felix left it, with no evidence that anyone ever touched it.

Of course, the boy will get a nasty surprise of finding out that his computer doesn’t work— _maybe it broke during the move?_ —but a better distraction to that problem than Claude.

The boy stood back and peered all around at his handy work. All the notes were gone, the laptop had ceased operations, and any other evidence of research wasn’t around to be seen. Just an ordinary room of a seventeen-year-old boy and that’s about it. Claude finally allowed himself a proud smile and turned to leave.

Voices echoed muffled from downstairs.

Claude quickly dove to shut off the lights and lock the door before moving closer to the bed. _The princess said that everyone was gone for the day! Did she lie to me? Was this a trap?_ He thought in rapid succession.

Footsteps ascended the stairs, the voices growing louder—two people—and Claude listened close to catch the familiar drawl of an older boy’s voice.

“You don’t have to keep apologizing. Did you think I was going to let you come back alone?” Asked Sylvain—definitely Sylvain. There was a certain laughing quality to his speech though it was more morose now.

The person he was chatting to did not reply, making a noncommittal groan. They stopped right at the room next to Felix’s, the sound of keys jingling at the door— _wasn’t that Dimitri’s room?_

“It will be quick,” muttered a soft lonely voice, one Claude had grown accustomed to every night since Gronder Field; his heart pumped wildly and he clutched it, body leaning over to catch Dimitri’s words.

“Hey chief, take your time—no worries here. I doubt Felix is in any rush to see us.”

“Don’t joke.”

“Sorry, sorry! I’m just trying to cheer us both us up. I guess it’s not working, huh?”

Someone sat on the bed, the creaking of mattress sank with the springs, and there was a drawn-out sigh. Silence. And then another body joined in hesitantly.

“Hey, you doing okay, buddy?” Sylvain whispered.

“No,” Dimitri said without a beat, “what about you?”

“I’m getting there. Fe is strong—I know he’ll be okay.”

“It’s just...” He shuddered deeply—Claude could imagine the boy burying his face in his hands. “I can’t look at him, the way he is in that bed. He looked fucking dead, Syl.”

 _When did Dimitri curse?_ Just the sound of it was like a gun going off in the middle of the night—so sudden and forceful that it nearly scared Claude.

“I know, I know. But the doctors said that he’s stable. He’ll wake up in due time...”

“And what if he doesn’t? What if he gets worse and never wakes up? Am I suppose to take their word for it?”

Sylvain sighed; the bed shifted slightly and there was a dry sniffle. “Their word is all we can go off on. That’s the only thing we can possibly put hope in. But at the very least, he is stable and breathing. They even showed us the charts—the head wound wasn’t that bad.”

“I can’t look at him. It hurts too much. I just...I just need—“

“To breathe. Remember Seteth told you about breathing exercises?” The older boy asked gently with a tone Claude had never heard of before. It was neither humorous nor light, instead of taking on a more attentive sound.

“Yes...,” Dimitri stuttered weakly.

“Here, let’s do some together.”

Claude listened rather intently for three minutes as the two boys fell into a shared state of breathing—Dimitri’s quick and haggard breath slowly turning more focused and controlled.

Despite the wall the separated them, Claude could feel the heat radiating from Sylvain’s smile as the pair sighed together. The bed creaked again, and the sound of bodies moving—they were leaning against each other.

“I’m sorry—“

“What did Seteth say about sorry's?”

“Not to say them unless you know you hurt someone...”

“Exactly. Look here, buddy, I’m fine. This isn’t an inconvenience to me at all,” Sylvain reassured, laughing softly. He patted the boy’s back rather playfully and hummed. “Do you want to sit here for a hot minute? Flayn won’t mind waiting in the car a bit longer—she has her thunderous rock music set to ten out there.”

“No, I’ll try to grab the gift I got for him and we can go.”

“Whatcha get him again?”

“Some oil for his shinai. Do you think he’ll like it?”

“Yeah, buddy. I think Felix will definitely like it—even if he won’t ever say it.”

There was a moment of silence, as though the two boys were sharing the same thought at once, and were trying to process it on two different ends. Finally, Sylvain coughed nervously and asked,

“Will you be sleeping in tonight?”

“What do you mean?”

“Dedue noticed that you keep leaving in the middle of the night—you keep going over to him.”

 _Him._ There was a bit of disdain flickering off the tongue, and Claude could not help but grin to this; the boogeyman hearing his own name being called by a frightened child.

“I...I sleep better when I’m with him,” Dimitri said lowly.

“Right, and I cuddle with Felix in a platonic, bro sort of way.” He chuckled darkly. “It just bothers me that you leave and not tell anyone. What if Claude does something to you—“

“He won’t. He’s not like that.”

Claude’s face flushed red and hot, and he leaned back in Felix’s bed to calm himself.

“Dima, buddy,” Sylvain cooed gently. “I’m just worried that you’re getting too attached to this dude without really knowing him. Hell, Felix didn’t like him.”

“Felix is like that with everyone.”

“No, I mean like—he really didn’t like Claude. Hated him. And you know Felix is not like that unless something bad happened or he knows something wrong.”

“Well, why didn’t he tell me if it bothered him so much?”

“I don’t know...all I know is that Claude shouldn’t be a person you tell everything to.” The bed creaked again, the springs pressed down with the shifting of weight. “Dimitri, do you love him?”

Time slowed, every sound getting louder and echoed off the walls in a drawn-out boom. Claude could feel the vibrations of his own heart quickening to a deadly pace, practically rumbling through his body.

It was three in the afternoon, the room was cold, and Claude had just suffered his first panic attack. A delayed and utterly slow panic attack which he mistook as a small rush of blood. He clenched his wrists to his chest, breathing very softly from his mouth as Dimitri’s voice bounded through the walls.

“Yes.”

And this was where Claude died. At least for a second—his heart physically stopped before starting back up again, if that was possible.

He was so drawn into himself, he never heard Sylvain’s growling voice, the words of a threat he should have kept track of.

“If something should happen with this dude, I promise you: I’ll get you out of here.”

A pause.

“I promise.”  
______________________

After sharing the discouraging news with Edelgard who did not seem to mind the disappointment, having made a strange friendship with Lysithea, bonded over their common philosophies and strict natures.

The interrogation was an afterthought between two women with Lysithea merely confirming what Claude had intended—she only saw the blue banner traveling through the treetops and Marianne carrying it out from the forest.

Though, Edelgard hardly seemed discouraged, chalking it up to merely a dead lead—every good detective keeps searching, ruling out all of the bad witnesses until one is left remaining.

It took a lot of strength for Claude not to tell her that the only witness was Felix himself. And he wouldn’t be speaking any time soon.

It was the Monday evening after another tough house council meeting of planning and putting pins all over the board, another meeting with Dimitri, that Claude heard a knock at his door.

He smiled; he had missed Dimitri since the boy had unexpectedly taken the weekend to rest at his own dorm—probably to relieve Sylvain in some way. Of course, his lion could not stay away for long.

Claude unbuttoned his dress shirt until the winter night touched his bare chest and positioned himself right at the doorway. He opened and shot a friendly smile.

“I missed you, Di—“

“Good evening, Claude,” muttered Marianne, whose dark weary eyes blinked rapidly at the sight of her house president standing seductively in the room.

Claude immediately straighten up and brought his shirt together over his chest. He had not expected Marianne of all people to be knocking at his door at this time tonight. Or to knock at all for that matter. She seldom approached him so willingly.

After a minute, he shot a funny smile and said, “it’s late, Marianne. Are you feeling alright at all?”

The doll stared down at her shoes, hands clasped together nervously. “I wanted to speak to you...but if you were ready to sleep, I can see you another time—“

“No, I’m not tired. Please come in,” Claude coaxed with a patient smile.

He stepped aside and allowed the young woman to pass through. She stood in the middle of the room, eyes tracing over the room nervously in a strained conflict of where to sit. Even when Claude gestured to the bed, the doll stood right where she was, shaking her head frantically.

Claude knew better than to continue to push her. He stayed standing, leaning a bit on his desk. Marianne still wasn’t looking at him, though this was a natural consequence that he learned to accept since his arrival here.

“So, did you want to talk about it? I take it that it was serious enough for you to come to see me this late,” he joked lightly.

This just made Marianne’s mood darken even more and he immediately regretted it.

“Of course, I’d love to hear what you have to say. I mean it, of course. This isn’t even the time I get to sleep for a matter of fact—“

“I think it’s my fault for Felix’s accident,” she blurted out suddenly, tears already brimming in her eyes.

Claude stopped. _So that’s it?_ He shook his head. “What? You? No, not at all.”

“I’m serious, Claude.”

“And I’m serious, Marianne. What, you think you made him trip over the cliff?”

“The only reason why he fell was because I lead him to that area in the first place—I’m the one responsible,” she said and started crying silently into her hands.

It was not a loud weeping, something so gentle and soft that it could be carried off without anyone ever noticing. But once someone laid their eyes on her, that was it—time stopped just for her.

Without thinking, Claude reached out and gently guided her down to the bed. She sniffed as he patted her back and drew in close.

“Marianne, what’s this really all about. We all know it was not your fault and yet, you’re crying as though you murdered someone,” he said, whispering.

She wiped her eyes from the small tears, sniffing. “I’m bad luck. I’m cursed. Felix fell over because he came after me. It’s happening all over again.”

“What is? Mari, you gotta be direct with me—what exactly is going on?”

Marianne lowered her head and closed her eyes, trying to remember a past she sincerely appeared too pained by to mention, even think of. And yet, Claude could see how it came on her face, a sharp sting that still felt so fresh and alive, whatever happened to her probably happened yesterday. But her tragedy was decades old.

“I...I’m adopted,” she started hoarsely. “My foster father sent me here after I tried to...well, I...tried to go meet with the Goddess.”

Claude frowned deeply and turned away, staring at his own feet. There was absolutely nothing to say to this, whatsoever. But his silence was an answer enough. No wonder why there was an eternal melancholy that followed this doll wherever she went—why Hilda was so protective of her.

Marianne continued. “I knew my real parents though. Lived with them for a long time. And I have done nothing but caused them pain. When they could not bear it anymore, they left and I was alone.”

“What exactly did you do to hurt them?” Claude asked carefully.

“I was born.”

_Excuse me?_

He stared at her in open shock, a mixture of anger and confusion swelling plainly on his face, and Marianne shook her head. “I-I was an accident. I was never supposed to be born. After I did, my parents were forced to marry and work hard to take care of me. They fought all the time, fell into debt, and we had to move so many times just because of me. Eventually, they couldn’t do it anymore and so---”

“They abandoned you.”

She blinked, waking up from a dream too far away to be reached again. Her entire face paled over, threatening of collapsing at any moment.

Instead, Marianne stared down at her hands and sighed. “If I never came into this world, they would have never been burgeoned. And my poor foster father, he has done so much for me, only for his efforts to be wasted. It...this was all a waste.”

“Marianne,” Claude said, breathing sharply through his nose. This girl, a nature so self-loathing and guilty, that she could even challenge Dimitri in the feeling of infinite sadness. He placed a strong hand on her shoulder, his grip was a bit too tight for comfort. “You are very much loved. The fact that you are surrounded by people who love and care for you is proof enough. You may think your birth is a curse, that you burdened your parents, but all this...pain you are feeling is just the consequence of some shitty folks who placed all their blames on a child who never done anything wrong. You have to stop being this...mental scapegoat for all of life. A scapegoat for two shitty people who never made it as parents. You’re not cursed and you didn’t cause Felix to fall. It was an unfortunate accident, which happened long after you made it to the hill. I can promise you that.”

Marianne’s eyes widened, wider than Claude had ever seen before—the soft blue of her pupils finally revealing itself in the low light. She clasped her hands together in her usual silent prayer and nodded very slowly.

“I...I never thought of it that way before...but still, I caused my foster father so much pain. How will I ever make it up to him?”

“By living, Marianne,” he urged and leaned forward. “By living every day and making your survival mean something. Otherwise, it would all be a waste if you were to die.”

And for the first time in Claude’s life, he heard a voice in his head he did not recognize. But it was a voice he knew somewhere, somehow, in a place further away than here. But it was neither kind nor encouraging, clever, or smart. Instead, a sharp laughing cruelty emerged from the back at his mind, and it scared him raw.

_H y p o c r i t e._

______________________

Confessional with Lady Rhea had become a sort of twisted game for Claude. One where he perfected his nods and looks of sorrow to the saintly headmaster. And for the most part, she ate it all up quite well, with a few moments of silence to see if Claude was absorbing everything she had said.

So far, he was able to jump around talking so explicitly about the past, instead of tricking the woman into having a session to talk about feelings—about life, family, and other sensitive and personal topics, which she misunderstood as genuine grief.

It was not until this sundae where Claude genuinely found himself in a lost place, his head all over the place that he couldn’t walk straight. As if Garreg Mach was starting to have a terrible effect on him rather than their intended purpose of healing him. He did not say anything when Rhea greeted him, merely sitting down with his legs closed up, and head hung low.

Rhea noticed this mood right away and placed a hand on his arm, nodding in a fair gesture of sanctuary. He looked up and noticed how brightly green her eyes were, even more so than Seteth and Flayn. It was almost inhuman.

“You carry great pain with you, child. One that needs to be revealed and opened up for us to mend?” She stated simply, a tone that requested no argument or denial of any kind.

“Do you think so? Some things are best left unsaid,” Claude pointed out; he knows that she had long sensed it. The uncharacteristic mood he came in—but people naturally fall into a terrible mood, often without reason. He was surprised that she even picked up on the intentional dryness he was experiencing. But, then again, Rhea always had such a detachment from the usual norms.

She closed her eyes and smiled. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. It is unwise to be digging up graves. But your pain is fresh—it is unfamiliar. I believe you may have some problems even digesting what it is you are feeling. Does that make sense?”

When Claude said nothing, Rhea hummed pleasantly at her prediction and relaxed against the pier—a brief moment of weariness shown upon her serene face. After a fleeting moment of silence, he finally spoke—hesitantly.

“There’s this...shitty sensation that’s been following me around as of late. It constantly bothers me and it’s been hard to think straight.”

“When does it usually come up? All the time or at certain moments?”

“Usually when I talk to people. Like my friends or housemates.”

She made a weak sound of approval. “Ah, conversations. What do you talk with them about?”

Claude shrugged. “Usually their problems. Why they’re sad. Why they’re here—which I know I’m not supposed to talk about. But, you know how we are,” he muttered absently. The light shone in from the cathedral stained glass, faint colors of red, blue, and yellow dancing on the marble floor.

“And, how do you feel, when you hear about their problems?”

“I don’t know. I thought it was sympathy but after a while, I realized that I wasn’t exactly pitying them. I guess guilt? But it’s not like they’re here because of me, so that’s what confuses me the most.”

Rhea bore a small smile, fatigued yet genuine, and for the first time, Claude saw her for what she truly was—an overworked mother. Perhaps it was the fact that she sat in the shadows of the cathedral rather than in the light, that Claude was able to see the dark rings under her eyes or how the edges of her mouth had wrinkles—strained from smiling all the time.

She sighed against the pier, her hands relaxed in her lap.

“You know, after all of these sessions, I realized that you never once outright told me what you did,” she said, but her words were not accusing. Observation, more like it. “And, for the longest time, I truly believed that you would tell me, eventually. All of the students in the past have because the only way for them to heal is for them to acknowledge what they have done. But now I understand: such a thing would not work for you.”

Claude lifted his head up and intently listened.

Rhea continued softly. “At first, I thought you were in denial. That a bit of patience and support will give way to honesty. But after speaking with you more throughout this year and all of Seteth’s reports from group therapy, I understand now. Claude, do you even believe you did anything wrong, to begin with?”

“No,” he said bluntly.

“There’s a difference between denial and outright ignorance. Denial would suggest a deeper feeling of shame and guilt. But you—you genuinely don’t believe you done anything wrong whatsoever. You’re hurt and confused by your parents’ abandonment, unable to understand why they left you here. In your mind, you’re just a normal boy, surrounded by broken people. In essence, you don’t belong here. Did I get that right, Claude?”

He did not answer. In moments like this, his silence was enough. And the quiet resignation on his face was plain to see, and Rhea allowed herself to frown, breaking free from her usual mask.

And they both knew that it was a moment of release for them—away from the world and in a space of absolute solitude where it was only them.

Lady Rhea sighed deeply and buried her face in her hands. “Claude, I...I think the guilt you are feeling now is the result of realizing other people’s pain. And subconsciously, you are now acknowledging albeit, quite slowly, that you do have a problem that needs confronting. Especially among your own peers who have accepted their pains and are working towards healing themselves,” she said slowly, carefully.

She stared at Claude to gauge his reaction, and when she only saw a reluctant acceptance, she continued. “I’m not here to accuse you. No one is here to accuse you of anything. We just want what is best for you, and your honesty now after months of dodging me truly means the world. But let me ask you this—have you ever felt bad about something you did immediately after it was done?”

“No.”

“But what about some time after? Say, the incident that happened a year ago.”

That incident.

Claude frowned deeply. “No...I mean, I’ve been thinking back on it recently...”

Rhea nodded. “Did you do anything that would hurt anyone here as of late? Did you feel about it as well?”

“I...well, I, I’ve been thinking a lot about a person I hurt recently. But I don’t know where to go from there, other than to ignore it.”

The headmaster closed her eyes and the smile returned, but it was not the patient, serene gesture she always displayed so prominently. It was self-satisfying and relieved, as though she passed a major test and was relishing in the aftermath.

“Claude, I’m afraid our session is over. But I’m glad we had this talk, this very honest talk. I would like to continue this next Sunday if that is okay.”

“Sure.”

“And.” Rhea leaned forward and sincerely touched his arm; bright green eyes meeting with a darker pair. “I believe you are capable of changing yourself. Of finding redemption.”

_Do you now? Of me changing who I am? Is redemption possible?_

But Claude’s session was over and the small sanctuary they had built for themselves crumbled upon the deep ring of the cathedral bell, echoing through the halls like the count of death.  
______________________

Edelgard had found some leftover snares in the forest, near the cliff. Claude had not the energy to deter her away from her conclusions—that Felix was caught and someone had to cut him down.

He wondered why he was growing so weak at his own game. Perhaps it was getting boring. Perhaps he was just tired.  
______________________

It was Ignatz that called him into Manuela’s art studio the afternoon after classes. The invitation came as a surprise to him than any other and he wondered if the painter wanted another nude model session—preferably, without the whole forest scene.

Instead, when Claude walked into the studio, the first thing he saw was himself.  
And he stopped.

“Like it?” Ignatz asked without turning around. He stood right at the easel, peering at it closely. Claude slowly walked up to join him, eyes glazed over the finished portrait. In his mind, a million different sensations going off at once, all too conflicting to merge, and bouncing painfully off the walls. His throat tightened and he couldn’t breathe.

“It’s...not what I expected.”

“Right, you were expecting something more still life? Like a photograph taken in at the moment,” Ignatz said with a nod.

“I’m no artist, buddy,” he said nervously without a smile. “So I’m guessing there’s some symbolism to this piece?”

“Definitely. As I stated back then, I intended to represent the savagery in man. How the line blurs between beast and human. We all once belonged to the harshness of nature—it’s only natural that we have some inner connection to animalistic urges.”

“Ah.”

“Manuela wants to use it for the art show—but I won’t put it up without your permission, of course.”

Claude stared at the painting. Ignatz was a master painter; there was not a place of amateur skill anywhere, with years and years of experience right on a single canvas. The forests, the shadows, the lighting, everything was perfected. And then he saw himself—or rather, the Stag King. A man draped in furs and long, sharp antlers drawn upward to a dark sky. A face unseen except for a pair of dark green eyes glowing from the shadows. A body taunt with muscle and melded against the chaotic, stormy forest. A stance poised, arms out not in a welcome but a domination of one’s territory. It was nothing like the session they had in the forest, everywhere everything was all bright and colorful.

And yet, Claude could not draw his eyes away, as though he just noticed a pimple on his face in the mirror. All he could do is stare at his own reflection and wondered when it will go away.  
______________________

Claude walked home late that night. He spent the whole afternoon talking to Ignatz, or rather, Ignatz talking to Claude, with the boy barely saying but a single word.

The moon was high over the sky and the street lights were out. There was not but a presence anywhere, the snow blanketing all sound and images together in a gentle whiteness. The walk from the studio to the Golden Deer dormitory was always so far, but Claude enjoyed the long walk. It gave him time to think, to reflect alone.

And then he heard a voice. Someone was calling out to him.

Claude turned around to the sight of the princess running after him. her red trench coat and black boots covered in snow as though she had just come back from making snow angels.

Edelgard stopped just a foot away from him, panting a bit wildly. Her face was bright red from the frost, eyes nearly in tears—probably from the night. She sighed, brushing her hair from her eyes, and straighten up.

The two house presidents stared at each other, watching each other simply without a word. Finally, Edelgard spoke with a cold voice, one Claude recognized from their first meeting together.

“Look what I found,” she said mutely and fished through her coat.

A black face mask, wet from the snow—lost that day after a rather violent scuffle.

Claude’s brow raised and he hummed with a nonchalance too abnormal for the situation.

Edelgard’s eyes lowered and she frowned. “I found this near the leftover snares where the cliff was. From what I was told, this belonged to you.”

Silence.

“Do you know how that got there?”

There it was. The climax of everything he had been feeling up until now. The ugly and twisted pains that kept him lethargic and slow to the workings of his own game. The entire time, Claude could only inspect the mask with an expression one might wear when reading a boring novel. There was no great shock to it. No passion. Just something he believed he had lost during those final moments of Felix’s accident.

And here it was, right in front of him. The key to the whole mystery, found by the clever female detective herself. In the end, he knew Edelgard was going to uncover the truth. It was her nature after all.

Rhea’s words echoed to him from a place beyond, the softness of truth and honesty he had never experienced before. Redemption. Change. Perhaps it was all coming up to here. A chance to prove himself once in for all. To take away meaning from Ignatz’s painting and render it absolutely false and pointless.

It was Claude’s only chance.

And then the gentle murmurs of Dimitri’s confession drifted through his mind. The confessions of young and endearing love.

_Do you love him?_

_I do._

Claude wanted to laugh.

It was already too late from the beginning. Redemption was never an option for him; Rhea was wrong; Ignatz’s insight was better than anyone else in this damn school, even if he did not realize it. And the red detective made the first and last mistake of any crime show—don’t ever confront the killer by yourself.

Claude smiled darkly at Edelgard.

And then, the Stag King walked forward.  
______________________

_Mom, Dad, I guess you guys had a point after all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry guys---update weekly (though I have uni next week so things are gonna get slowww) 
> 
> The last three chapters will be from Dimitri’s point of view as Claude’s character arc has come to an end. 
> 
> Follow my sad butt on Twitter for updates at https://twitter.com/Meatbike344


	8. The End of Childhood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri wanders; contemplates the end; reconnects with family 
> 
> WARNING: Themes of suicide and death are heavily present in this chapter. If any of those things make you uncomfortable or trigger terrible feelings, I suggest clicking the back button now.

_Who woke up first?_

_The girl or the boy?_

_Even to this day, it was a mystery; perhaps the boy woke up first and decided to fall back asleep. Perhaps the girl was the first to stir but lacked the energy to move._

_What mattered was the voices of adults sounded from across the meadow, and they both sat up reluctantly. Around them: winter flowers of Fhirdiad, never dying due to the eternal winter that engulfed the north. Even in the summer, the city always remained cold and white—the flowers at the full bloom of blue._

_The boy rubbed his eyes clean of post-fatigue as the girl stared at him, hugging her knees to her chest. The sky was colorless gray—no sun in sight, though the light rarely blesses the city. The air was permanently frosty, even as world politics had decreed the fate of changing temperatures due to human error. A place stuck in time, never to change, never to shift._

_Children nestle here and remain young forever._

_“Are you really leaving?” the boy asked softly, his tone that of despair and sorrow._

_The girl shook her head. “I have to—my father has custody this weekend, you know this.”_

_“But we’re going to Duscur this weekend!”_

_“I know but momma says the court will get mad if I don’t see him.”_

_None of the children understood what the court is or what power does it hold over a disjointed family of two fathers and a mother married twice. They just know that it was something to fear, even in the face of the boy’s own father—the leader of a country. The girl must leave every month and there was nothing they could do about it._

_The boy sighed. “I just wish it was the weekend after the trip.”_

_“Me too.” The girl looked down at her shoes—they’re new for the visit, but blisters are already forming around her ankles. “Father doesn’t talk to me much. He’s too busy with my other brothers and sisters. And his new wife.”_

_“Is she nice?”_

_The girl does not answer: the children share a certain silence only they come to understand, and the boy knew better than to push her any further. Instead, he turned to the flowers near him and pulled out a wrapped box with a blue ribbon. It’s small but heavy, and he placed it carefully in the girl’s lap. Her eyes widened with surprise and a small gasp escaped her lips._

_“You didn’t have to!”_

_“I wanted to give it to you a while ago. But since you’re leaving this weekend, I thought this would be the best time.”_

_The girl opened the gift with the vigor, delicate wrapping flying all over the place like flower petals. She tore out the box and stared at the contents inside._

_A moment of silence._

_Children are good at expressing both joy and shock. But hers was only of shock._

_“Papa said I’m too young!” She cried and lowered her voice to a hiss when the adults nearby the road stopped in their conversation briefly._

_The boy chuckled nervously and put his hand over hers. “I’m sorry—I didn’t know what to get you. But you always seemed interested in papa’s and then Uncle Rufus took you to the practice range...promise me you won’t tell Uncle Volkhard!”_

_“Of course not! He’ll never let me have this,” she said and lifted the small revolver in her hands. It gleamed in the winter light with silver. Children knew better than to hold such dangerous weapons so causally. Wealthy children were above these norms—the boy felt bad for knowing this fact well, but anything to make the girl happy._

_“But what would I even use it for? It’s not a gun for hunting,” she pointed out simply._

_“Well,” the boy began and clasped his hands together. He seemed nervous, the thought that plagued him unpleasant and terrible. Children should not be thinking such things, but they were always a strange lot. “If you ever find yourself in danger, you can use it to defend yourself.”_

_“Like kill someone?!” she squeaked and the boy’s face paled._

_“I...I don’t know! If someone every tries and hurt you, you can...scare them off? Hurt them back. I don’t know about kill...”_

_The children grew quiet. The flowers around them danced lightly with the winter breeze, bits of ice brushing along their reddening cheeks. The gun laid in its torn box, still gleaming brand new with the blue ribbon on top. In the back, the adults chatted of things beyond the realm of children, despite the clear weapon of death merely a few feet away. In a few minutes, the boy and the girl would part to two different ends of the country, unable to see each other for some time._

_A man of dark hair and warm eyes turned from the crowd, to where the children sat. He held a hand out to his mouth and called out to the girl—an order for her to follow in a voice unsympathetic to their plight._

_Finally, the girl closed the box and tucked it close to her lap. She regarded the boy kindly with eyes of violet and a smile only meant between them._

_“I’ll remember this when I’m in trouble.”_

_“Will you?”_

_“I will,” she nodded graciously and they stood up._

_The flowers around them danced as if to announce their departure; the two children stared at each one last time and the girl was the first to give a farewell wave._

_“See you on Monday, Dima.”_

_“See you on Monday, El.”_

________________________

Monday came.

Dimitri woke up.

Edelgard was still sleeping—in the field of flowers somewhere far and beautiful.

It was Monday and he could not wake her up.

They always woke up together.

Not this time.

______________________

Dedue was there first when Dimitri woke up.

He was always there these days, followed by Sylvain who knocked on the doorway for emphasis. Dedue was the one who helped him out of bed, this giant of a boy with the gentleness of a maid. He never spoke, merely patting Dimitri’s sweaty back and slowly pulling him out from the covers. These days, Dimitri was slow in dressing himself, but the time was enough for him to move and do things on his own—Dedue stood outside but even that distance alone made the older boy apprehensive.

Once the house president was dressed albeit, still in his mourning clothes of white, Dedue gently ushered him into the bathroom to clean himself. If Sylvain was there, which he was always, he would have Dimitri sit on the edge of the tub and clean the sweat from his hair and face with a soaked towel. Strangely enough, the red head held back his biting humor during these moments and instead, sang Dimitri very soft and loving word of praises.

_Lift your head up a bit—yeah, just like that. You’re doing so good, Dima..._

_You’re getting skinny. Dedue is making breakfast in the kitchen. We’re not leaving until you eat, okay? Good boy..._

_After this, promise me you’ll brush your teeth. Promise? Thank you, buddy..._

Dimitri could not make sense of it all. Sylvain’s low voice rumbled through the mist of his mind and he merely nodded submissively without a second thought. Once the older boy left the bathroom, Dimitri stared at his image in the broken mirror—shattered by his own hand three Mondays ago. The cracks in the glass pieced at the center point of where Dimitri’s right eye was. He never liked looking at himself for too long and threw his head down and began to brush his teeth.

In truth, the boy only brushed very slowly for it was the only free time he had—that and sleep. Because once he came downstairs, Mercedes was waiting at the base of the steps and was the one who helped him into a seat at the kitchen. He allowed himself to be tugged along, still asleep mentally and answered with a weak nod. Annette and Ashe were the ones who set up the table, with the perky red headed girl trying her best not to knock over the glass of orange ice she placed on Dimitri’s side. Ingrid was helping Dedue in the kitchen with the food, and placed dishes around the table—she always sat next to him so he would actually eat.

Everyone chatted and talked for the day, but they kept their voices low and demure, one eye to each other, and the other eye on Dimitri. The house president did not need to be watched over: he sat in his seat, staring distantly at his breakfast—breathing, existing, but never once to exert himself, like a pretty doll paced in the corner of the room. No one dared ask him anything, merely ushering him to move or eat once in a while.

Once breakfast was concluded, the entire house packed up and left for the day. Dimitri had no choice but to follow along, gently tugged by Annette and Mercedes. Even during free period, he was never left alone, usually placed in the garden where Dedue tended to the flowers. He watched the older boy move around plants, never once moving nor speaking. It was a deceptive peace, one they both knew never lasted long enough.

There was no house council meetings for three weeks now and continuing.

When the evening fell, the entire house went to Seteth for their usual Monday therapy. The theme, for a while, was the same.

Mourning.

Once they concluded for the day, everyone left one by one except Dimitri. He stayed very still in his seat, unable to lift his gaze up and meet with the worried glances of his housemates. Dedue was the last to leave, reluctantly, and Dimitri was alone with Seteth.

They began to meet every other day for an hour. Seteth would bring his chair across the chair circle until he was close to the boy. He put down the clipboard he always carried so his hands were empty; he took off his heavy robe and threw it over his chair. There it was, the space of complete vulnerability and comfort in a space just between them.

Seteth was always the first to speak. Dimitri never minded. He did not know what to say regardless. Seteth spoke and Dimitri listened, nodding along once in a while if he was able to understand the man at all. There were words—comforting, kind words, rarely emitted by the dean himself. These were nice and even if Dimitri hardly woke up from his sleepwalking, he appreciated them, nonetheless. Once their meeting was over, Seteth stood up and walked Dimitri himself back to the Blue Lion house. He handed the mute boy off to Dedue waiting at the door, said a short sincere goodnight, and trudged off all the way to the administration building.

Routine was important. Routine established stability—control. Every day was a routine so Dimitri knew what to expect. Nights were no different.

Everyone sat down and ate dinner together. Talks were short with only Annette and Sylvain keeping up the conversation, a plentiful of jokes and stories all around. Once Dimitri ate half of his meal—the minimum to earn Ingrid’s approval, he silently excused himself from the table. Mercedes always pushed him to take a bath and filled the tub with mineral salts to soothe the aching body; her benevolence was the only thing that constantly ate away at Dimitri’s guilt so he never shook his head at her suggestions.

Because of the circumstances at hand, Dedue could not be talked down from attending to the house president’s bath—Sylvain argued that he needed space. Dedue always brought up the incident from the first week.

That, alone, was enough to shut everyone up.

He stood at the door, shoulders stiff from the held tension, and listened to Dimitri sloshing slightly around in the tub; the noise from the boy trying to extend his legs and arms, but he lacked the energy to wash himself. After the first week, Dimitri was more compliant to Dedue’s presence slipping in from the outside.

 _Everyone was still downstairs. The bathroom was black; he reached out for the light switch, but his fingers found nothing. In the eerie quiet of the darkness, he slipped slowly beneath the water_ _to sleep_ _—razors slicing through his lungs…_

Once Dimitri was all cleaned up for the night, Dedue helped him to bed; he’d stayed sitting on the edge, his strong back turned to the weaker boy. He always hung his head, staring down to the ground. Breathing deeply between counts of five. Dimitri watched him from the blankets. He never said anything—has not said a word to him in weeks. After a minute, Dedue finally got up and exited the room as quietly as he can, never once hearing the small plead that left Dimitri’s lips.

_Please don’t leave me alone._

It was not until he heard the sigh of the house asleep that he finally allowed himself to slip back into the realm of nothingness.

Dimitri was dreaming again; the flowers were in full bloom, the wind was blowing, and Edelgard was dangling over the field from the trees.

_See you on Monday, El._

______________________

Garreg Mach has been on lockdown for the last three weeks. All of the students felt it: the oppressive, suffocating noose that choked them all.

And it all started with Edelgard von Hresvelg.

Rhea ordered the entire forest to be sealed off from the open field to the individual houses. Administrators spent the entire week setting up a perimeter and nailed signs down at all the entrances prohibiting access. There were instructors tasked with watching the students during free period in the dining halls and field. All of the year events were canceled along with clubs and everyone was instructed to head home after classes.

A curfew was set in order—no one was allowed to leave their dorms after seven.

The only exception was Dimitri since his private sessions with Seteth ran longer than expected and the dean personally saw it himself to escort the boy home. He did not have to. Everyone knew he did not have to. But he did so every other night when they had therapy together.

Perhaps it was these moments, that Dimitri, even in his unconscious state, recognized the sincerity in the usual brisk dean. But he was still sleeping, too weary to acknowledge anything around him, and too tired to speak.

Nowadays, it was simply easier to listen.

______________________

“Why did she do it?”

The question escaped the boy’s lips like the dying hiss of a machine. But it was so unexpected that it caught Seteth off guard and he snapped his head up in surprise. Dimitri was still sleeping, eyes too withdrawn to truly realize where he was. But he was speaking, perhaps the first time in weeks.

In a voice neither of them truly recognized.

Seteth leaned forward and pressed his thumbs together in a thought. He stared at Dimitri with a rare gentleness usually reserved for Flayn, but did not reply; his silence serving as a gentle nudge for the boy to speak more. He always did this during group therapy, especially for some students who rarely spoke or shared their thoughts.

Dimitri was still asleep but his words slipped out very slowly, some mumbling of loose thoughts, and disjointed together. It was difficult to make sense of it all, but through the mourning state, he was able to clearly hear what the boy was trying to say. And it was three words that could either excite or break a therapist.

“It’s my fault.”

For Seteth, this was the latter.

“Why do you say that?” He asked very carefully, leaning forward to catch the pained look on the boy’s face—concentrated and contorted.

“She would not have come here if it were not for me. She would have been safe at home with our Uncle Rufus, and I would have been here. Things would have been okay…”

“Dimitri, how do you know she would attempt to take her own life at home, then?” Seteth paused, gauging the boy’s reaction, and continued softly. “Do you think you really had a hand in her passing?”

“I don’t know…,” Dimitri buried his face in his hands. “I don’t know...”

Neither of them spoke, sitting in the space between them. The moon was slipping through the windows and illuminating the room in a blueish hue. It was past six going onto seven; the students were hurrying back to their dorms with the chatter disappearing in the distance.

“I’m still thinking, Dimitri,” Seteth started seriously, but his tone was neither strong or biting. A father’s attentive nature. “About the incident from three weeks ago at your dorm.”

That incident. Seteth never used outright terminology. He was always very soft with his language, with the implication being the strongest suite. Of course, while it did not work on all students, it came off very clearly to Dimitri.

“I-I don’t know what happened. It...It just happened,” he stuttered, defeated. “I wasn’t thinking clearly…”

“I’m not disappointed. The last thing we need to do here is throw around blame. No, I just want to hear more from you. I want to listen and understand—we have all night,” he urged with a kind smile. The wrinkles around his eyes darkened and Dimitri suddenly felt young again.

“It was the day after I found about El. Everything felt numb—it still does. And I was sleepy. It...I guess I just let it go.”

“Have you ever tried it in the past?”

Dimitri did not answer.

“Do you still feel like trying it now?” Seteth asked more pressingly.

“I don’t know,” Dimitri replied honestly in a very small voice. He lifted his head up so the dark rings under his eyes were present right in the moonlight, along with the milky blue of his pupils. He was as pale as a corpse, with some stiffness alongside that. From afar, one might have mistook him for a worn-down mannequin, placed far into the corner of the room. “I don’t think I’ll do it again. The thought comes up so many times throughout the week. But then...then I remember the look on Dedue’s face. I never want to see him cry again.”

“So many people love you unconditionally, Dimitri. You know that.”

“So did Edelgard.” He lifted his head with a bitter look. “And she still left.”

Seteth was a strange therapist—he showcased different degrees of patience so it made it hard to gauge the extent of his temperament. With some students, he was very firm and direct and hardly waited for them in discussions. And then there were students who he always took the most time with and hardly showed a look of annoyance.

Since Dimitri arrived to Garreg Mach, Seteth has been nothing but unflinchingly kind and gentle with him, which the boy always appreciated. Even now, he felt terrible for just inconveniencing the dean with his pain, the unknown nature of his own feelings. In the suffocating noise that rang in his ears, he somehow caught Seteth’s quiet sigh and he blinked momentarily into waking—just for a moment.

“El and I has always been together since we were children. I never knew my own mother so her mother was the only one who ever occupied my life. Our lives were so intertwined that I could never imagine living without her—especially after...I lost my parents. It was just us for the longest time and...the things I had to do to protect us,” he stuttered consciously; Seteth pressed his mouth into his hands and leaned forward with an unwavering stare.

For a while, Dimitri did not speak. He kept staring down at his hands, cold fingers curling and uncurling slowly in itself. The silence he occupied was not one of finish but in thought, of anticipation of his own words. Finally, he brought his head up and the eyes of a distant, misty thought were wet with tears.

“Why did she kill herself?” he choked.

Seteth closed his eyes. “I can’t answer that, Dimitri. We often find that the reasons to take one’s own life are that of an enigma. That pain cannot be measured or presented clearly, even in the most openly happy and strong of individuals. We cannot sense the dread in the ones we love and it hurts to know that their thoughts are so hidden and far away from us that we can’t be there in their darkest moments.”

“But that’s the thing—she would _never_ —I can’t imagine her taking her own life. It’s not like her,” Dimitri suddenly spouted with energy and shook his head. “No, no, it doesn’t make sense at all.”

“Suicide is always so unexpected, Dimitri,” Seteth said softly. “We are never prepared—that’s why the aftermath is so shocking. And it’s even more painful if it happened to someone who appeared so fulfilled and happy on the outside. It’s...terrible, feeling helpless as someone you love suffers in silence.”

“There was so much she wanted to do…,” Dimitri muttered absently, his expression dreaming and light. “She wanted to attend Enbarr University for government and law...I think the law part is from all those detective shows she watched when we were kids. She wanted to work in the parliament. She had so many dreams…” he stared off towards the ground, his brows creased darkly. “I don’t understand...and it hurts my head to think about why she decided to leave me.”

The boy returned back to reality and closed his eyes.

“I failed her, Seteth. I failed my sister.”

“Dimitri, you didn’t fail her. I need to make that very clear,” Seteth said directly, hand out in a shaking fist. He was getting angry, but neither with Dimitri or the session between. It was anger exerted from worry, from care, as a father’s rage to his child getting hurt. “This blame you’re throwing around is so incredibly self-destructive and I need for you to know that you cannot blame yourself for her death. She...she loved you quite dearly. While I cannot tell you everything she told me during our sessions, I can tell you one thing: she came to her own accord and her problems had nothing to do with you. She truly did care for you as family does.”

“Seteth…”

“Listen, son,” he urged and leaned in close until their knees were touching. He clasped his hands together and breathed slowly through his nose. “I wanted to mention this earlier but now is a better time than any. Not all students graduate Garreg Mach within the year. For those who need extra time and work in their rehabilitation are asked if they wish to enroll in the Aftercare program.”

Dimitri blinked. “Aftercare?”

“Once you leave Garreg Mach, you can still be supported with private sessions with me including access to medications and different procedures to help you along with your journey.”

“So...I’ll still be able to talk to you?”

“Yes,” Seteth nodded with kind eyes. “A year alone won’t be enough to unravel everything that plagues you—especially with the loss of our beloved student. I want to be here for you after you leave, for as long as it takes.”

“I...thank you,” Dimitri uttered brokenly, a semblance of a smile on the boy’s sickly face. But it was too quick, too faint, and it dissipated as soon as it came.

They sat in the empty silence that followed and the feeling of weariness set upon them—usually the signal for the end of their night session. Fatigue settled in very subtlety like winter frost and Dimitri felt Seteth gesture to him warmly. The pair headed out together; the school grounds were completely devoid of life with the exception of a few animals scurrying around in the darkness.

Like always, it was Dedue who greeted them at the door, always waiting, always so diligent. Seteth handed Dimitri off with his usual pat on the boy’s back and a short farewell and headed home for the night. Dimitri never had the courage to look back and watch him leave, more so slumbering along to the gentle commands of everyone in the house.

When he was finally put to bed by Dedue, which was always a silent affair, Dimitri’s cold hand lingered over to where older boy’s hand laid and clasped over the wrist in a weak vice. The sudden chilly touch made Dedue flinch and he looked over and down to the boy in bed. They still haven’t spoken, but there was a moment where their eyes met and the message was more than enough.

The bed was only made for one but neither of them minded the sudden gigantic body that hesitantly laid right up against Dimitri, the addition of warmth making him curl up even more like a moth to a light. They stayed like that side by side, listening to the rest of the house fall back into a low slumber. Dimitri lulled his head against the nape of Dedue’s neck and went first into a troubled sleep.

He dreamed of Edelgard again, young, in a field of flowers. She was too far to reach, too far to ever be seen or heard. Overhead in the endless distance, he saw a shadow looming in wait.

A stag. Sharp antlers pointed upward to the heavens like an executioner’s pike.

______________________

Dimitri had not met up with Claude since Edelgard was found.

Likewise, the golden deer house president had not sought him out actively either. In fact, neither boys have seen each other at all, especially with house council meetings canceled due to the lockdown. Dimitri was too caught up in his sleepwalking despair to even remember what Claude’s face looked like—many different things were blocked out. He could not even recognize Marianne at first when she brought him flowers.

Days moved on slowly, just the passing of time drifting along without measurement, with all the usual joys Dimitri occupied day-to-day limited to sleeping in his room and following whoever was dragging him along. A doll in a static motion.

Movements became even more halted and disjointed when Dimitri received a letter from his uncle Rufus—his last surviving family member. He was never very close with his uncle, the distance between them growing even more after the accident and when Rufus found about the true nature behind the shootings. Everything accumulated when he caved in and dropped the siblings off at Garreg Mach for good. Dimitri didn’t have any bitter feelings towards the man and actually felt a persistent sense of guilt that ate away at him every time he thought of him. Having been the sudden guardian to two children was never a fair fate.

Now the distant uncle had set a funeral. The school will let Dimitri out for an entire week to attend and spend some time at home.

Home.

Dimitri never told anyone, not even his own friends, how he hated living in Fhirdiad for the last few years. That empty, cold house—it was like a prison all over again. And now Edelgard won’t be coming back with him. He did not want to go back.

But his courage had failed him once again and he could only accept his uncle’s extremely formal writing to heart, and mentally brace himself for the week he leaves. All of the professors had a keen sense of the internal mourning the boy was going through and allowed him to rest from their own classes; Byleth especially offered his condolences, revealing an actual side of emotion seldom showed.

Dimitri spent the last few days alone in his room, usually confirming to Dedue with a small, pained grunt that he was fine alone. As always, the older boy hesitated right at the closed door before leaving to join the others. Once his footsteps died away and faded off from the house, Dimitri sat up on his bed and closed his eyes. He was not sleeping, nor trying to sleep; it was like a machine without a purpose—to shut down and wait until the next day.

The day was still out and bright, with sun rays glowing heavily through his windows. He stared at them, at all the particles that floated aimlessly around in the empty space. Rufus’ letter was left out on the desk, still crumpled at the edges on how tight Dimitri held it from reading.

Finally, after a while of listening to birds chirping, Dimitri’s body moved on his own—the marionette coming into life. He stepped off the bed and allowed his feet to take him out of the room and somewhere far from the sanctuary of his house.

As he staggered off, he never did notice the longing stare of the groggy redhead that watched him leave from two doors down.

______________________

Dimitri did not know how he got here. By the time he woke up, he found himself at a familiar door that often invited warm memories of love. The bright colors and various plants that decorated the Golden Deer house always welcomed sun and wind, a far cry from his own dorm. Even just walking onto the emerald grass and shimmering forests, he felt himself gaining some consciousness from all the lights that danced on his pale face.

Now he was here, somewhat awake, standing at the door of his lover for the last few months. He did not know if the house was empty; the living room was empty but there were some voices from the basement and music softly blaring from some of the rooms down the hall.

But Dimitri came anyway, his body migrated so mysteriously back to where he walked every night since Felix’s accident. He looked down at his hands and noticed how quickly they were shaking—he hasn’t seen Claude in so long and he was not sure if his look now would just scare the boy off. Taking a deep breath, Dimitri gave a short nod on the door and waited.

Nothing happened.

Dimitri blinked and tried again, wondering if Claude was asleep or listening to music.

Nothing.

Hesitantly, he brought his ear to the door and searched for any noises of movement or breathing. But the only thing he recognized with the starling silence of absence. After a moment, he opened the door and peered inside—an empty bedroom flooded with sunlight.

As expected there were books all over the place, with Dimitri nearly tripping on an edition of _History of Fodlan_. He stumbled around awkwardly, trying his best not to knock over things on Claude’s desk or his various bookshelves. Usually, Claude cleaned up every night when he came but it seemed like Dimitri caught the boy’s room in its usual state. Finally, he settled himself down on the bed, carefully pushing all the books down to the floor.

It was strange. Even here in a familiar place he often found some peace in, he did not feel like himself. Everything was so far away and detached, he felt drugged—blinking in and out of existence. It was not a new feeling but it was the heaviest he felt since the car bomb.

Dimitri stared off at the golden blankets on Claude’s bed, the patterns of silk weaving into each other, and then his pillow. He slowly lowered himself down, pressing against his nose into the warm pillow; he inhaled and felt the numbness of his body withering away to a mingling calmness. How tame he suddenly became, but how tired he grew, sleep overtaking him so naturally in a bed of nightly memories.

Slowly, Dimitri drifted off pleasantly, breathing in a familiar warmth long needed.

______________________

The boy did not sleep for long.

When Dimitri finally stirred, the sunlight was still shining through the windows, but it glowed blood red with dusk—long shadows stretching across the room like phantoms. He blinked a bit, feeling the soft aches quake through his body. He usually woke up at strange intervals in the day if he took early naps, though recently he was able to sleep all the way into the next day. But something had woken him up.

Dimitri rubbed his eyes from the short nap and noticed a dark figure standing in the middle of the room. Their exposed back was turned to him, in the midst of taking a shirt off over their heads. Dimitri blinked rapidly, his mind still spinning in different directions until he recognized the dark skin and lean muscle imprinted on the shoulders and back. His heart fluttered lightly—a long-time feeling that jolted him up fully awake.

Claude was undressing from just the shirt, unaware that his sleeping guest had just woken up. Dimitri was set in greeting him until he noticed something that made him turn white. Long, red welts all along Claude’s upper back and neck, as though an animal had attacked him viciously.

The marks were thin and frantic, and their color against his warm complexion stuck out like pigmented paintings on a cave. Dimitri could only stare in awe how the scratches illuminated in the evening blood sun—these long, trailing marks. There was something off about them. Dimitri usually gripped Claude tightly during sleep but those where light purple bruises, which the other boy always bragged about. These marks were purely belligerent in nature. Malevolent. Desperate.

When Claude turned around, Dimitri immediately shut his eyes and feigned sleep, like a child trying to fool their parents in the middle of the night. He stayed very still and listened as Claude moved around the room—books being picked up and thrown into a corner; clothes kicked around causally; the door locking with a tight snap.

Then silence.

Dimitri’s heart was beating so violently against his chest, he wondered if Claude could hear it. Everything was getting both cold and hot at once, thoughts of both embracing the boy he found comfort in, and staying asleep out of nervousness from speaking to him. Since Edelgard, his friends would not let him go, not that he minded their sheltering.

The silence was eating up at him. He could hear his own breathing in a sequence of irregular measures like a badly tuned instrument; his heart was threatening to burst; he was beginning to regret his own cowardice and shivered.

_**You always been too weak of heart—stand up for yourself once in a while, Dima!** _

_I’m sorry El, I didn’t take your words to heart._

Her voice scared him. But what scared him, even more, was the absolutely warm touch of fingers suddenly caressing his cheek lovingly. The rough calluses running alongside the coolness of his skin. He felt Claude’s soft hot breath against his face, blowing his hair softly—but he would not dare to move, dare to wake up and acknowledge the deep burning stare the other boy was boring right into him. Suddenly, the room which was his sanctuary for so many nights became oppressive and dangerous. Everything was spinning and he could hear Edelgard screaming at him from beyond to get up and move.

_**Are you fucking stupid? You have to leave, now!** _

But Dimitri was always a slow learner in the face of his own emotions.

The shadow of the boy hovered over him for a very long time, unmoving, and then Dimitri felt the softness of Claude’s lips pressed lightly against his cheek. Would he notice the burning redness at all? Dimitri wouldn’t know—the bed shifted with a new weight, and Claude leaned over him closely, both hands planted on either side of his head.

He was peering straight down at Dimitri; the ‘sleeping’ boy could feel the intensity of the latter’s gaze, dark green eyes practically stabbing him all over in deep plunges. Claude’s breathing was growing heavy—as if he suddenly ran a marathon and back.

His hand cupped the side of Dimitri’s head loving, but just for a moment. Slowly, he brought it down the boy’s collarbone and chest, fingers drawing small circles around where the arrow scar was.

And then the throat.

Dimitri held back a swallow as he felt Claude’s fingers coiled around the base of his neck, right over where his throbbing pulse point was. A dark smile slicing deep into him—Dimitri tried his best not to shiver as the hand tightened. Not enough to choke, but the pressure was experimental, just enough to remind him that something was there, gripping his throat.

He was starting to internally panic. A small, inaudible chuckle from above and despair began to settle in where love once stayed. Claude was never like this before. Even after sex, he was always very attentive—never once crossing the line to violence. All roughhousing and insults was saved for their routine throwing, but this was neither sex and as far as Dimitri knew, he was sleeping. And yet, it was as though Claude was punishing him all over again, killing him while taking him violently. But instead, Dimitri was not feeling any pleasure, just a deep and aching pain rising from his stomach.

There was absolutely nothing playful about the way Claude’s hand gripped his throat, tightening and letting go as if to test the waters. Then the other hand came; it clasped over the other side of the neck in a near tight vice—air was slightly congealing at the base of Dimitri’s pressed throat.

This is not Claude.

This is not Claude at all.

This _**is Claude, Dimitri.** _

_El…_

_**He’s thinking. It’s not good when he thinks. You have to escape now!** _

When the fingers finally tightened into a deeper choke, a wicked smile cutting deep into him, Dimitri was just about to open his eyes and greet the stranger killing him.

Then there was a loud knock at the door. Claude pulled away quickly as though nothing had ever happened; Dimitri listened in quiet relief, tears already threatening to break in his sleeping eyes, as the other boy walked over to the door and opened it shortly.

Someone kicked it open roughly and Claude backed up with a sound of annoyance.

“That’s rather rude. You can’t just burst through people’s rooms like that,” he rebuked with a dark laugh.

“Shut up.” _Sylvain?_ “Where is he?”

The older boy immediately stepped over by the bed and scooped Dimitri up like a bride—the boy staying as limp as possible, and allowed his head to rest against Sylvain’s solid chest. He could hear the violence swelling and beating from within.

“You know, he came here on his own accord. I had no hand in this.”

“Yeah, well, I’m taking him home,” Sylvain grunted, his voice Dimitri only recognized in childhood whenever he, Felix, or Ingrid were in danger. A protective growl, the underlying hiss of a threat.

_Big brother, are you still there?_

Claude hummed softly, inquisitive almost, but there was resentment embedded deep in it. “Why can’t you just leave Dimitri here? He’s fine with me—he did walk all the way here to sleep.”

“Never. Dimitri’s is no state to be having sleepovers at your place again. Besides, as if I would let him see you again.”

“Now, now, what’s with the sharp tongue, Gautier? I don’t recall ever insulting you.”

“I should have seen it before—Felix warned me and I didn’t listen.”

Dimitri’s heart stopped. _Felix? What did he say about Claude?_

Sylvain growled and hugged the boy’s body tighter to his chest in a protective vice. “This is the last time, do you understand me? This little game you have going on—it stops now. Once he wakes up, I’ll give him a good talking to. Besides, the year is almost over anyway. As if you will ever see him again after this whole mess,” he snapped harshly with a bite.

“Who says it’s a game. I’m quite serious about our beloved prince here.”

“Enough to hurt the people around him?”

_**Sylvain has always been smarter than he let on.** _

Claude laughed dismissively. “Whatever could you mean?”

“Don’t pretend like you don’t know—anyway, we’re leaving. Stay away from my friends or else,” Sylvain finally concluded with a tone that ended all discussion on the subject. The two boys stared at each other, not daring to move or speak any further—this fragile stalemate between two parties already armed for war and death.

Finally, someone spoke. The premonition of death seeping into every crevice and out to the very open space between them like smoke from war fire. A derisive laugh and then a sneer.

“We will see.”

Sylvain said nothing more. He shoved Claude aside and strolled down the stairs with Dimitri in his arms. As he went, the feigned sleeping boy could hear the faint sound of a chuckle and the intense dark eyes following them like a sentry.

Sylvain ultimately placed Dimitri not his room but the red head’s own bedroom—an action out of worry that Dimitri could wake up and leave again. The older boy groaned and yawned before settling down right next to him, watching him intently for a few minutes, and drifting off into a deep sleep.

That night, Dimitri could not sleep.

It was the first night in a long time that he was wide awake and alive. He stared at Sylvain’s strong back, rising with every breath, and he blinked back the darkness that invaded his sight. A grieving thought was killing him from the inside.

_That is not Claude._

_**That is Claude.** _

______________________

The day Rufus sent a private car out to pick up Dimitri from the school, he brought Dorothea and Hubert with him. The former had begged him to take her with him, to take her to see Edelgard one last time, even if it will break her heart for good. From the ways her eyes glossed over in grief, the broken hollowness of her voice—she was always such a good singer – Dimitri had not need to ask about why she needed to come.

He had always suspected some affection between the two girls, especially since their first meeting at Garreg Mach, one where Edelgard fell rather comically upon the full chest of the brunette in the dining hall. And now, he would not deny her the chance to say goodbye.

Hubert, on the other hand, did not provide a reason. He simply asked. Dimitri, for the first time, was able to see the color in his eyes other than stark gray, and agreed.

Rufus never drove in the same car as Dimitri—and if he did, he always used the private limo where he could shield himself from his nephew through the driver’s window. Dimitri understood that it was not disdain. Even as a child, Rufus had always been distant, only meeting with the family on official business rather than a casual visit.

After the car bombing, this coldness elevated to the status of strangers.

The ride of Fhirdiad was rather long—four hours from the warmth of Garreg Mach to the eternal, bitter cold of the north. Dorothea cried herself to sleep and leaned against Dimitri’s shoulders as he stared aimlessly at the window. Hubert was staring off distantly and never spoken.

It was not very long ago when Dimitri watched the same gray winter skies pass by him many months ago on his way to the school. But the difference was that Edelgard was there with him.

Now he’s with her mourning widow.

The forests began to gloom from the rich green to the frosty blue, with fields of winter roses stretching out far into the wistful land of Northern Fódlan; the sight of the flowers alone forced his gaze away and down to his shaking hands.

They were supposed to see them together—but now he’ll have to see the flowers for the both of them from now on. He never understood why the funeral was in Fhirdiad—Edelgard always preferred her native Enbarr though she despised the heat. Perhaps Rufus liked the convenience of being in his home city. Or perhaps he knew Edelgard wanted to be closer to the flowers.

Whatever the reason for it was, Dimitri would never ask him—he was already drifting off somewhere far, mentally preparing himself for the cold end ahead.

The winter city glowed in the distance, the steeps of the great palace piercing the gray skies with dazzling lights of blue and white shone against the walls of the ancient. They were still so far away, at least another hour ahead, but the city was ever so sprawling and big that it was always a marker for directions in the north—a center point.

Everything began here; everything ends here; and for that one moment, Dimitri forgot everything Seteth ever told him and dreamed very briefly of eternal sleep.

But only briefly.

______________________

Dimitri did not cry.

Not that he had long hardened himself into a strong and emotionless man—he was always the weakest person he knew, especially in the presence of Edelgard. But when the young brother finally braved himself and peered down at the still face of his sister, he felt nothing.

Everything went in a blur: the image of Edelgard’s few blood siblings texting on their phones, apathy and neutrality plain upon their faces—her blood father had passed away years ago and in his death, left behind a family of rigid and unloving nature; old politicians and senators, the last few friends of their late father coming over to leave flowers and soft sighs of helplessness; Uncle Rufus, the stoic man who cared more for the passions of women than his own family, stared for a very long time at the casket—he slowly bent over and whispered into the girl’s ears, words Dimitri will never hear or know, a mystery only the Goddess herself knew the answer of; the cries of Dorothea, weeping loudly with her mascara running down her red cheeks—a black veil shielded her face and she bent over the casket to breathe properly—her body unable to handle both the breakdown of her grief and the act of taking breath.

In the end, it was Hubert—the dark-eyed sentry, who in a gentleness Dimitri had never thought to have existed in him before, pulled Dorothea outside. He wrapped his arm around her back and guided her out of the cathedral. He whispered something very soft to her ear—not a threat—comfort spilling from his cold lips.

And then there was Dimitri himself. He did not cry. Everyone stared off and expected the younger brother to break out into tears but he did not cry. He gazed at the figure of his sister—a maiden surrounded by her favorite flowers, in her favorite dress, sleeping in wait of a prince. But there was no prince and the princess had long thrown herself off the tower.

She wasn’t asleep.

There was no happy end to this story.

And Dimitri did not cry.

Perhaps he wasted his tears a long time ago, upon his own guilt and the people they lost together. Now she was gone and he realized one important thing.

This was it: childhood’s end.

_**You always cried when I left.** _

_Not today. Not anymore._

______________________

There is an urge that only exists among men, a sensation that gently ushered whenever they stood on the edge of the world and looked down into the abyss. The distance between the sky and ground was but a flight itself, and somehow, only those of flesh and blood and bone find it tempting to take that step off.

Fathers of the old world called this feeling remnants of man’s guilt for betraying the Goddess, that the urge to find redemption through death lessened over time, but it will always remain, always present. It was the abyss that called to them so warmly like a mother’s embrace and all men must return to the earth, even if it is through flight.

For Dimitri, this feeling had always been so strong with him. He just did not know what it truly meant until now. A young boy’s confusion from this strange urge to jump off the cliff was now a temptation he hardly struggled against.

He was far from the wake, not too far for people to worry, but far enough where no one was around. Unconsciously, like a doll, he wandered off aimlessly into the forest and somehow found himself standing at the edge of a cliff—higher than the one in Garreg Mach with the small imprints of rivers below. The wind blew around his hair and ears, whistles of nature practically encouraging him along. The boy’s mind was empty. No thoughts invaded his space. Not even her voice came.

It was as though she wanted this as well—her silence was always the most powerful.

Dimitri blinked at the image before him, how truly far away the ground was from here. He felt like flying. His body felt light, swimming with euphoria. The world was spinning in three degrees of speed. And the voice of Seteth was buried beneath a sudden calmness.

Why did everything feel okay? Was it supposed to feel this way? To feel ready?

The wind blew against Dimitri’s back. He closed his eyes and lifted his head to the sky in anticipation.

And then he heard a voice. But it was not hers.

“I did not peg you for a coward.”

Dimitri did not turn around, but he did not have to.

“Leave me alone, Hubert,” he muttered dully without his usual bite in warding off his sister’s bodyguard—then again, there was no need for both of them to fight anymore. There was no meaning in their spite anymore.

“Oh, believe me, Blaiddyd, I would like nothing more to be as far away from you as possible,” Hubert replied simply. He did not step forward, but the distance between the two boys seemed closer than usual. “But Edelgard would never forgive me if I were to walk away from this very moment.”

“Edelgard is dead.”

“And I suppose this means that everything you both been through together meant nothing. That you will let her memory fade away and die—her efforts and hard work to keep you here all in vain.”

“Well, I…” Dimitri shut his mouth and sniffed dryly. Hubert always had a way with words, not in the way of a silver tongue but one that lashed out honestly with painful questions of truth. In the same way Felix always forced him to think. It was a terrible feeling.

“I hate you,” he finally said without malice.

“We are brothers in that regard then. But I’m not here to bond with you over our mutual disdain for one another.”

“Then why are you are here? Wanting a front scene in another family tragedy?”

“Hardly,” Hubert said and shook his head “I was hoping I could talk you out in your little…” he waved his hands around in the air to Dimitri, “pathetic tribute to the dead.”

“How dare you say such a thing. As if you know anything about how I feel,” the other boy grunted, his fists clenching white at his sides. A cold heat was rising to his ears, violence flaring the base of his throat.

“Are you assuming that I cannot feel grief? Why do you think I’m here?”

When Dimitri did not reply, Hubert continued in a voice of moroseness uncharacteristic of the boy—it sounded too alien to both the speaker and the listener, but no one moved when he said it.

“I failed her too,” Hubert uttered quietly, his one gray eyes closing very slowly on itself in mourning. “I wanted to make her happy. I would have followed her to the ends of this world just to make sure she was not alone. And now she is gone and I am still here, living with mistakes I will never fully comprehend.”

“Hubert…”

“Have you always been so condescending, Blaiddyd? Do you think you’re the only one suffering from the weight of the world? As I recalled, you barely shed a tear while Dorothea fainted from crying. And here you stand, ready to die a pointless and meaningless death that will only cause more unnecessary pain,” the boy opened his eyes and frowned deeply, shadows cast upon his face so naturally. “This isn’t about you anymore—it was never about you. Don’t taint Edelgard’s memory and final time here with your problems.”

Dimitri did not turn around but he did look over his shoulder to Hubert; his eyes flared brightly, the blue of the sky finally shone through the mist, but it was white flashes of anger that emitted deeply from within. Anger from a biting, unwanted truth, which he could not defend himself from.

“Then what am I supposed to do with myself?!” he hissed, ignoring how glassy his eyes were getting. Tears meant for Edelgard were now spilling for himself in hot, painful trails down his cheeks—the younger sibling was always the more selfish one and that rule has not changed in the slightest. “Edelgard was the only reason I had left to live. Now she’s gone and…I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with myself anymore. There’s nothing left—it’s all empty. Everything is empty.”

“Edelgard was right: you’re too dependent. It’s a wonder how you were able to make all these years,” Hubert sighed and pressed his hand to his forehead. “She’s not around to coddle you anymore. It’s time to learn from her lessons and actually take them to heart.”

“And that is?”

“Live for yourself—make your survival mean something or this will all be for nothing.”

_Live for myself?_

_**Live for yourself...or I’ll come back from the grave and haunt your dreams, little brother.**_

_**______________________** _

Dimitri spent his last days wandering around the empty house he called home for the last eighteen years. Voices echoed down the cold halls, sounds from a childhood lost. But it was just him, in a place of dancing ghosts and dwindling shadows—walls that laughed in the night, and pictures stared at him longingly from behind a frame.

Eventually, a distraction came in the form of a knock at the door. The boy had woken up from a troubled sleep in the living room only to look upon the face of man whom he called uncle. Rufus inspected Dimitri with cold eyes, though this was his usual stare for most men—he was kinder towards women, even in his age. Dimitri did not greet him but stepped inside for the man to walk in.

Rufus did not take off his coat and lingered by the doorway—he was not going to stay long, a minute at least. Dimitri picked up a few of his father’s habits and left the front door open to a crack as he leaned against the wall in expectation.

The two stared at each other, the only family they had left in this world. Finally, after a solitary moment, Rufus reached inside his coat and pulled out a white envelope; he gestured for Dimitri to take it and the boy stared, as though it was a bomb.

“Your friend is conscious. He wrote you a letter,” Rufus stated coolly.

Felix.

Dimitri immediately took it, staring at the shaky letters of his name—penned with a weak hand. His heart was surging with a much-needed joy; Felix was finally awake, conscious enough to send him a message. At the very least, Dimitri would not lose another person precious to him.

As he stood in his short relief, he noticed that Rufus did not leave immediately as he expected. In fact, he was still standing there patiently, staring at his nephew. There was a softness in the eyes—it almost made him seem human in many ways.

“Is there something you need, Uncle?” Dimitri asked hesitantly, tucking the letter into his pant pocket.

Rufus coughed into his gloved hand in a rare nervousness and stepped forward. “H-How are you...Dimitri,” he asked with an unusual stutter.

He was never one for small talk, even back when Dimitri’s father was alive. The two brothers had what Edelgard referred to as “conference talk”—all business and no pleasure. Rufus’ small question here threw Dimitri off guard and he blinked incredulously at his uncle.

“I...I don’t know really. What about you, Uncle?”

“Well enough.”

Silence.

Rufus sighed. “Dimitri, I thought we could talk.”

“About what? Did something happen, Uncle?”

“No, it’s—I wanted to apologize to you.”

_Apologize?_

“Listen, I know this may seem very strange coming from me,” he said, taking off his gloves and rubbing his hands together. He was staring off in different directions, never once meeting Dimitri’s gaze. “I know...I know I have never been there for you and El, even after the accident. Things have always been so distant between us, and I’m the one to blame. And then I heard about Edelgard and…”

Dimitri did not interrupt him. Perhaps he sensed the vulnerability of the situation, that this was delicate ground they were stepping on and one misstep could send both of them down in the water. He merely watched as Rufus composed himself, finally looking up to meet his gaze.

He was scared.

“Dimitri, I want you to come live with me.”

“Pardon?”

Rufus swallowed and nodded firmly. “I want you to come live with me,” he repeated again with strength. “When you graduate Garreg Mach, come and settle down in my home near Duscur.”

_Kleiman._

“You can bring your friend—Dedue, right? He can live with us as well,” Rufus added softly. “I know he’s been staying with you since the car bombing. I wouldn’t want to separate you two.”

Dimitri gawked at him until the blue of his eyes shone brightly. He shook his head to dispel his shock and crossed his arms solemnly. Rufus was being too polite, too warm for someone who spent the last few years with his back turned to the grief of his nephew and niece. But perhaps he’s always been that way—a man unable to truly get close to his baby brother’s family, even if he wanted to.

A memory slowly emerged—one Dimitri was never supposed to witness. The image of his Uncle Rufus smoking outside after the funeral of the late president; his hand cupping his eyes, shoulders shaking slightly with violence. A forbidden moment. But Dimitri remembered it with a fondness he could not quite understand.

“I do not wish to impose, uncle,” he finally said somewhat wistfully.

Rufus shook his head. “It’s okay to be angry with me. I know you’re confused, wondering why I am extending an olive branch now.” he frowned and sighed through his nose. “I...I have been a terrible guardian. I was supposed to be there for you when your parents died and yet, I abandoned both of you. I chased women, I spent money, I...I have done many things other than taking care of you and your sister.”

“And now she is dead,” Dimitri said without cruelty.

“Now she is dead,” Rufus repeated with a croak. “I failed her. I failed you. And nothing I will do will redeem my neglect to you both. But...but I can make sure that you are taken care of from now on, Dimitri. I will leave behind my selfishness and finally try and be a proper uncle from now.”

“So you want me to come live with you?”

“Yes, Dimitri, I do. I will take care of your education—you can attend any university you want. You can get a job at the family company or pursue whatever you want. And I’ll support everything. You won’t ever have to worry again.”

“What about the house?”

Rufus closed his eyes. “We could continue to keep it. You can come and stay here whenever you like and I’ll keep paying the bills. Or if you want, we could sell it and use the money for your tuition. Anything you like.”

Desperation. It was rare, unfitting tone for Rufus. He was never desperate, even when arguing with his own brother. Yearning and want do not suit him. And yet, Dimitri could not shake how scared the man was at this moment. Afraid of losing an invisible battle between the last two Blaiddyds in this world.

They only had each other left.

Dimitri rubbed his arms sheepishly and threw his gaze down to the floor, at the puddles left behind from Rufus’ snowy boots. He could not sense his own painful grief anymore, just a strange emptiness left behind by days and days of internal mourning. But he was not the only one in pain. He should have recognized that a long time ago.

Finally, he gave a fragile smile and nodded reassuringly. “I think I would like that Uncle Rufus—to come live with you, I mean.”

“Truly?” his uncle asked with a cracked voice. He coughed it away nervously and stepped forward. “You will come and stay with me in Kleiman?”

“Yes.”

Nothing more was said. Rufus was never one to speak for long. He had exhausted to his absolute limit from just the five minutes he stood here. But, despite this, Dimitri felt the distance between them shortening immensely. Some form of a family bond was there somewhere, though it was still hard to see through the awkwardness. Rufus was trying, harder than he ever had in the past.

And now, it was Dimitri’s turn to try and salvage himself for good.

For both him and Edelgard.

______________________

Dimitri would not open Felix’s letter until he was back at Garreg Mach. He had forgotten all about it until he was changing for the night in his bedroom. The envelope slipped out from his pockets and landed on the floor with a small thud. He picked it up and sat on the bed, preparing himself for the worst—Felix was always so harsh with his words, even more so in writing.

Rufus had mentioned that Felix had a lot of trouble moving and speaking after he woke up—but the boy was desperate as it seemed and urged for the nurses to fetch him some draft paper to write on.

Dimitri wondered what Felix wanted to say to him in such an urgent matter as he opened the envelope and pulled out a small piece of paper—stained with coffee in a corner, most likely ripped from the corner of a legal pad. Perhaps it was just a word of reassessment that he was fine—he knew how much the Blue Lion house worried for him. Or perhaps it was what he wanted to tell Dimitri before Gronder.

Dimitri turned the letter around and traced the scratchy writing on the back. 

______________________

d o n o t t r u s t R i e g a n

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, at Dimitri's POV, which we will follow all the way to the end of this fic. For those of you who were routing on this fic turning positive, I'm super sorry. And I apologize again if this chapter offended anyone. Such themes are troubling to write about and should never been written lightly. I hope I did my best to come off as completely serious in this chapter. We only have two chapters left and boy, is it going to be a ride. 
> 
> I will not be updating next week as I will be writing up another story to add to my "Fairy Tales in the Dark" series. It won't be a sequel to "The Beast of Fhirdiad" but it will feature Dimilix with more dark themes. I'm thinking of Witch hunters and witches. But you'll have to hang tight to find out! 
> 
> Catch me for more updates at my [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/Meatbike344)


	9. The Face Beneath the Mask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri receives a warning from a friend; he becomes scared of the stag; he makes a final decision 
> 
> (WARNING: Extremely dubious consent bordering on rape with no safe word. Proceed with caution)

_The gun which shot the man right in the middle of his head was a revolver—obscenely large, especially for a child._

_The child that held the gun was quivering white and fell to the floor with a noiseless cry._

_A dark, red puddle seeped into the soft beige carpet and spread out between the jutting tufts of pulled twine. Warm droplets touched the clenched fists kneaded tightly into the wool._

_A gasp. A choke._

_Eyes blinking rapidly, pupils outward and in desperate search beyond the frosted windows._

_Something warm touched the child's shaking shoulders._

_The brother looked up and saw the sister._

_______________________

d o n o t t r u s t R i e g a n

Dimitri could not stop thinking about Felix's note for weeks. In fact, the boy could not sleep properly unless someone else was in the room, and that was usually Dedue or Sylvain—the latter, especially, kept a close eye on the mourning house president.

Even then, Dimitri would lay in bed and think back to the cryptic, near-unreadable scribbles on the torn piece of paper of Felix's letter. How the letters warped together, penned with a shaky, desperate hand, stained with coffee in the corner.

In his dreamless nights, that memory alone haunted him like a phantom and followed him up to where Dimitri finally reunited with Claude one red evening by the Black Eagle's territory. The Blue Lion House President had been visiting his sister's former dormitory house with flowers since the funeral.

Seteth had advised him on taking active steps towards mourning as both a gradual acceptance of death and personal healing. Open mourning was healthy. An expulsion of feelings was healthy. Both conversation and solitude were healthy. Dimitri had to keep reminding himself of these things. The first thing he started doing was to visit the Black Eagle territory more, though these trips—often done alone as per his specific request—was a silent attempt to continue honoring her.

Of course, he had never expected that the Golden Deer House President would be there as well one red evening.

Neither of the boys had said anything to each other, simply nodding as they stood in front of the Black Eagles' gate. The shadows had stretched long out on the sidewalk as the sky bled with strips of purple and blue. A few stars twinkled with life, and the world stayed still in this miasma of twilight.

Dimitri had nothing to say. And neither did Claude, apparently. A silence drifted between them and all the former could remember in this solitary moment was Felix's small letter. The warning he begged for Rufus to bring.

d o n o t t r u s t R i e g a n.

Dimitri stared off at the Black Eagle house, the entire lawn decorated in bouquets, candles, and stuffed animals. Messages of love too far away for him to see. Everything was cast in low crimson light with completely pitch black shadows in every corner. The boy kept his gaze straight for but a few seconds before hesitantly riveting over to Claude

And all he saw was a stranger.

It was not so much that he could not recognize him. Features that made 'Claude', Claude, were still recognizable. Apples are red; Claude's face was still sharp with a wayward handsomeness Dimitri remembered finding himself enamored with during their first meeting. Bananas are yellow; his eyes were a dark green, the same green that hid away thoughts and captivated the young man for months with intrigue. Peaches are pink; his hair was ruffled slightly as though he rose from a very shallow sleep, a subtle wildness that was a chaotic image in Dimitri's usually proper life.

Fruits are fruits. Claude was Claude. Nothing was different.

And yet, Dimitri could not recognize the boy beside him.

Somehow, something deep within Claude had _shifted_ , almost in the same vein as how one would replace the AI of a robot. The exterior was the same, the brain was not. And Dimitri could feel this when he looked upon his lover's face and saw an absolute dull coldness that was never there before. He looked distant with faint dark rings under the far-away eyes and a small, straight mouth. Not of feeling but unfeeling. All devoid of emotion and passion—a mere husk simply existing.

When Claude finally noticed Dimitri's off-sided stare, he craned his entire head and looked at him fully. And Dimitri saw nothing behind the eyes of green.

Just color—a dull, faded color. Like rotting moss.

And he felt sick to his stomach.

"Good evening," Claude greeted coolly and blinked once as if he had just realized that Dimitri was there beside him.

"Evening...," Dimitri replied back. His voice was still hoarse from not speaking as much these days, and it sounded like a dying hiss emitted from his lips.

The two boys did not say anything more. They did not need to. They were only here for one reason and one reason alone. However, only one brought flowers.

Without another word, Dimitri laid down his bouquet at the side of the gate where other students have left behind gifts. As he nestled his flowers between a stuffed bear and a box of chocolates, he felt as Claude's dull eyes riveted right into his back. And suddenly, the heat came on until Dimitri was pinned at the spot from the suddenness of it.

He did not want to turn around or even stand up; he kept himself distracted by adjusting the flowers and kept his eyes trained on all of the notes praying for Edelgard's soul to rest in peace. At this moment, he wished he brought along Dedue or Mercedes when they asked if he needed any company.

"How have you been doing?" Claude asked mechanically and Dimitri could hear the static in his voice.

"I'm taking private sessions with Seteth," was all the other boy could muster and finally, he stood up.

When Dimitri turned around to stare back at his companion, Claude's entire body was cast in a black, half-shadow from the last remnants of the bleeding sunset. The only thing in sight was the single glow of a green eye on the illuminated side of the young man's face, leering back at Dimitri eerily.

"I hope you're taking care of yourself," Claude said very slowly.

"I have good people with me," Dimitri stated in a small voice. "They're...supportive."

"That is good."

"Yeah."

Dimitri broke the gaze and threw his eyes down to the ground near the boy's mud-stained boots. Claude's stare had grown much too intense for him as if he had done something wrong and was being judged on the spot at his own trial. But the heat from Claude's eyes was not so much of hatred. In fact, no feeling came from his regard other than a deep observation, one that Dimitri wished to go far away from.

Finally, a semblance of a smile slit across the young man's face. White. Sardonic. Cruel.

"I really miss you, _my lion_ ," Claude cooed suddenly with a surge of life—with a seeping tone of yearning and stepped forward with his hands slightly raised. "These last few weeks, I have thought of nothing but you."

"I...miss you too," Dimitri admitted hesitantly.

The area around them was completely open, but despite that, the boy was trapped in a hallway that ended prematurely, and there was no one nearby but the one advancing forward. Beckoning so sweetly like a siren during a storm.

"I know things have been hard since—I'm sorry, I really don't know what to say. I came here for...something. To pay my respects? But I know she would never accept them."

"Why would you say that?"

Claude did not answer.

He tilted his head and smiled absently at Dimitri. For just a ghost of a second, the Blue House President thought he had seen a flash of pain pass over on his companion's face. Regret—teetering dangerously close to a mental collapse. But it died as quickly as it appeared and Claude went back to his mask.

"You came over my room a while back," he started and Dimitri immediately froze up with the memory of strong, loving hands slipped around his throat. "Was there something you needed or did you just wanted to see me?"

"I...I wanted to talk. Just to talk," the young man said hoarsely and trained his gaze elsewhere. "It's been a lot since El died." 

"I understand. Sylvain came to get you, by the way."

"Did he now?"

"Oh, you did not know?"

"No...," Dimitri lied.

He was not so sure why he lied, especially to Claude's face. And whether the other boy could immediately sense the fib through someone so inexperienced and unpracticed as Dimitri was something Dimitri himself couldn't tell. But at the moment, he felt it was safer to keep his consciousness during his time in Claude's bedroom a secret or how Sylvain confronted the boy.

Claude's brow arched ever so slightly, near-incredulous, and he hummed with a drifting thought. "Yeah, he came and picked you up...I suppose you were asleep the whole time then."

"I have not been myself lately."

"No, I understand, my lion. I just really missed you. I wish you could have stayed that night. There are so many things I wanted to tell you."

Dimitri perked up, his heart was suddenly hopeful and childish. "Really? Like what?"

"Lots of things, really. Many, many things. Some of which will definitely make you hate me for all eternity." Claude stopped—stopped himself from saying anymore and shook his head. "But those things aren't important anymore. There's only one thing that I wanted to say."

The young man smiled and stepped forward, close enough to Dimitri where he could reach over and take the boy's cold, shivering hands into his own. Claude squeezed gently and leched their fingers together in a semi-tight vice as he leaned in close, his soft breath intermingled with Dimitri's small, panicked huffs, lips inches apart from one another.

"I miss you. I love you. I know of you have been suffering these past few days...and I wanted to let you know that I will always be here for you. _Always_ ," he pledged solemnly in a quivering voice, both excited and completely serious.

Claude's words were gravity, his figure the moon—pulling Dimitri's body closer into an oppressive, dark orbit as he lost all train of reasonable thought and simply nodded with a drugged euphoria. Dimitri endeared himself to the idea of true love, something El herself often regarded as a tragic and childish ideal from the younger brother.

He followed with his heart and failed to listen to the desperate voice in his head, screaming at him from the pile of animalistic chatter. The boy was so young, so wayward, and followed every word of love, even as it dripped from a snake's poisonous mouth.

Claude grinned in response. His other arm slinked around Dimitri's back and pulled the enthralled boy into a warm embrace; he buried his head into the nape of Dimitri's neck, nuzzling closely against the soft skin—a fast-beating pulse vibrating against the cheek like a startled rabbit before the chase.

The sun had long set and all around them was a faint meager of shadows.

Curfew was near.

"I have a nasty habit of burning bridges when tragedy strikes," Claude uttered against Dimitri's neck. Eyelashes fluttered and tickled the white skin like a butterfly's take-off and a hand slinked up and over. Long fingers gently pressing around the boy's throat in a teasing manner. "But...I think you're one bridge I like to keep."

Dimitri swallowed visibly as he stiffened with the sudden light grip around his vocals. "R-Really?"

"Yeah, baby boy. And I know you have been hurting, terribly. Would you like to come back to my room?"

The beckoning was sweet like rich, raw honey. It dripped and glistened, and Dimitri's own walls crumbled at the ascent of an ugly and needy temptation. The beast knew no reason but feeling and chased after it wildly with its tongue out. The word _yes_ clawed at the boy's throat, seeking escape, and Dimitri almost permitted himself to indulge.

And then reason prevailed. A memory resurfaced and all he could think of was Felix's desperate warning.

d o n o t t r u s t R i e g a n.

At the last second, Dimitri pulled away gently with a visible rejection.

"I'm sorry, but I still need time to mourn and be with my house," he stated slowly. "It was impulsive of me to come to see you...so soon. I'm not thinking clearly."

Claude seemed mildly taken aback but nodded. "Of course. I should not have asked considering everything. I'll give you your space now," he said with an impressive recovery and even smiled politely. But it did little to veil the obvious dark irritation swirling beneath his mechanical mask. Pulsing malevolently with heat.

"Thank you. And thank you for coming to pay your respects this evening. I know you two weren't close but I'm sure she appreciated your presence."

A laugh, hardly humorous—all self-mockery. "You're dangerously idealistic, Dimitri. But whatever, you say."

"I'll have to go now, but I bid you a peaceful night, Claude."

"Go, go," the other boy repeated in a possessed mantra, waving his hand away dismissively. Claude was still looking at him, but his eyes bore _through_ him than at him. Like peering through the body of a phantom. "At this time, lion cubs should be inside their dens. All protected and safe."

"Head home, Claude," Dimitri advised wisely and turned to leave.

The entire time as he walked out of the Black Eagle territory, the only thing he could feel in the coolness of the evening darkness was the painfully sharp prick of Claude's hot gaze from behind. Unwavering, unrelenting. And all possessive and wrathful.

Dimitri wondered if he had said something to offend the young man or if rejection had struck him deeply. However, he was unable to think of a reason, more so focused on walking in a straight line and refusing to turn back. He knew Claude was still there, watching him leave, and Dimitri feared that any bad move will betray his own composure.

Even as the young man was able to get back onto the main path heading north to his own dormitory, the eyes of a cunning predator never left his back. It marked him for an invisible hunt, and Dimitri went straight to bed with his heart beating wildly towards death.

That night, the songbirds stopped singing.

Only silence of madness reigned.

But from who?

_______________________

Garreg Mach was not a school without controversy.

It was a boarding school for the troubled youth, after all. In the earlier periods of the school's operations, it also served as a mental institution before being shut down in the latter half of the century due to poor management and unfortunate deaths among the students.

Edelgard's passing was merely a drop in a lake of tragedy and Dimitri understood that quite well. In fact, in his quiet mourning came a very dull yet persistent rage he hasn’t since they were children. One that flared up at the fingertips and demanded release.

However, for one so tragically repressed, the boy did not know how to deal with his newly founded anger and took it out unconsciously in sleep.

Dimitri often woke up to Dedue or Sylvain's face peering down at him in shock; the back of his head stung and when he arose, he found himself on the cold floor of his bedroom. His sheets were torn into pieces and half-ripped pillows were flung against the walls, as though someone had let loose a wild animal to wreak havoc. His companions were equally shocked and even looked around to see if there was a loose creature hiding around.

Just Dimitri. Confused. Sad. And unbearable angry.

Later on the week, Sylvain decided to take the young man out for a more unconventional means of therapy.

In the early morning, the redhead gently rose the troubled young man and presented him with a baseball bat. Before Garreg Mach, the four of them—Dimitri, Felix, Sylvain, and Ingrid, played baseball for their school's league. It was one of the few things that made the former undeniably happy, and even now, Dimitri immediately shot up at the sight of it.

Sylvain nodded wordlessly with a smile and gestured for the young man to change. Outside was cold, wet, and misty. Like childhood mornings.

The solitary walk to the lawn was not in silence. Sylvain was always so chatty, even when there was nothing absolutely special to talk about. Dimitri liked that about him. So did Felix. As long as there was the presence of conversation, the absence could not take reign. This was something Dimitri appreciated deeply; since they were children, the older redheaded boy always talked and talked. He spoke sweet words of comfort when Ingrid first fell down and scrapped her knew when trying to ride a bike for the first time. He spoke with a hearty encouragement when Felix had first entered the Kendo tournament—against his own brother, nonetheless. And he spoke with sheer and absolute kindness when Dimitri's parents died in the car bombing incident.

Sylvain was born to be an older brother. To replace the one that failed him. No one in the group talked about the red head's own tragedy. It was the one forbidden thing that conversation could not touch upon. This only made Dimitri love the older boy even more—a keen selflessness that made him feel spoiled and foolish.

Even now, baseball on the empty lawn was all for Dimitri and Dimitri alone. And he did not know how to express his attitude.

"I hope you won't break the bat this time. You have such a terrible habit doing so," Sylvain started teasingly and dropped the metal bucket of baseballs he carried out from the gym.

"It's not a habit if that was not my intention," Dimitri grumbled and positioned himself with the bat held up near the opposite side of his head.

"All I'm saying is that this egg-rotten flavored shit hole of a school only supplies wooden bats...so please, go easy."

Sylvain snatched one of the balls from the top of the bucket. It flew up and landed down in his practiced hands and he eyed it carefully before staring back at Dimitri. The other boy was already waiting, his knees slightly bent, and blue eyes dark with concentration.

In a split second, the ball soared out of the red head's hand in a great twisting launch.

There was a thunderous crack. And a dull star fell up and over into the dark morning sky to join the others before the dawn.

Sylvain whistled.

"You have not lost your touch, Dima," he remarked and grinned proudly at the boy. "Hey, and you didn't break the bat this time."

"Don't say that so soon. Keep them coming, Sylvain," Dimitri muttered darkly and swung the bat back up into another readying stance. His eyes glowed with heat and his entire body surged hotly with a tranquil rage that flowed from the pit of his stomach to his fingertips.

The redhead nodded and picked up another ball for another well-executed pitch. Minute after minute, cracks roared throughout the completely dark and empty school grounds, like a whip sounding off somewhere distant. The sky, which grayed from last night's shower, had bits of white stars meandering around the thinning horizon as the faint glow of sunset gently pushed through the veil.

Finally, there came a great and echoing snap followed by the hollow drop of wood.

Someone sighed.

"Well, we did last...a half-hour? Better than what you usually do," Sylvain said, scratching the back of his head.

A few feet across from him, Dimitri stood with a plain, emotionless face as he stared at the splintered remnants of his bat. The other half had flown off and landed right on the sidewalk in a loud crack before rolling off into the grass. This is how their practice usually ended: with a broken-bat and a tired spirit.

But at the very least, the hot fires that boiled throughout his body was all but expelled, leaving just a bitter, smokey aftermath that made him feel empty. Dimitri dropped the broken piece of wood and rubbed his eyes from the early-morning grogginess. In the distance, the first bits of sunlight broke through and both boys finally felt more awake than ever.

"Edelgard is dead," Dimitri stated without any feeling. He wasted most of his tears and grief and anger up until this moment, and all he could do is emit white noise.

Sylvain nodded solemnly—understandingly.

"We came here together. We were supposed to leave together. Now...I have to leave alone."

"Don't say that. You have us, Dima. And your uncle. People who want you to live. And I'm sure your sister would not want her brother to just...stay here," Sylvain said, gesturing to the open field around them.

"It still feels like a nightmare. It doesn't exactly feel real. Then again, nothing does anymore. It's just a strange numbness these days"

"Hey, I feel you, buddy. But how are you feeling overall? Like, really, really feel. I need your honesty."

Dimitri blinked and stared all around him. "I think...better. Better than the beginning. Especially after you all have done for me. Truly, I appreciate it."

Sylvain's smile widened just a bit and he closed the distance between them until he can rest his hand on Dimitri's shoulder affectionately; fingers clasping over in a secure hold and he nodded. "It's hard, I know. And it won't ever go away. But it will get easier the more you keep going. You just have to keep going."

"I know."

"And we will be right beside you every step of the way."

"I...I know. I know," Dimitri said, even sporting a rare smile across his sleepy, dark face. He reached over and placed a hand on top of Sylvain's. "I am ever so grateful."

"Dimitri, do you trust me?" Sylvain asked suddenly, with his golden eyes large and pulsing like the glow of the sun. The intensity of the older boy's words struck the other boy like a truck and all he could do is stare back in mild confusion. Sylvain's hand pressed desperately into the soft skin beneath Dimitri's shoulder and he leaned forward.

"Dimitri?"

"Yes, I do. I do trust you," the boy finally said with a firm nod, trying to hide the pain ebbing from the maddening tight grip from his companion.

Sylvain seemed satisfied and released Dimitri, but did not step back. He stayed perfectly still and stared at him. His usual laughing eyes held a deep and dark solemness Dimitri hardly seen from him before. It was devouring, desperate, and even a bit paranoid like a madman's. And it was here that the younger boy realized the secondary nature behind Sylvain's insistence that they traveled to the field alone.

"Look, Dimitri. There's something important I need to tell you," Sylvain said very strongly without a smile. "And I need your complete honesty with me here. Do you understand me?"

It scared the other boy from this unusual behavior but he nodded, nonetheless. The redhead blew sharply out of his mouth and rubbed the back of his neck—conflicted on where exactly to start. Finally, he peered back to Dimitri and narrowed his eyes.

"Have you seen Riegan at all?"

Dimitri blinked. "A few days ago, actually. He was there when I went to drop flowers for Edelgard."

"Did he say anything?"

"Huh, Claude offered his condolences and asked if I wanted to come back with him to his room."

Sylvain's eyes glowed wildly with fire and great panic settled on his usually cool face. "Y-You didn't accept, right? Please tell me you did not go with him, buddy," he demanded with a hiss.

Dimitri frantically shook his head. "Goddess, no! I came home that night, remember?"

"Sorry, I just—sorry. I'm not thinking clearly," Sylvain apologized with a relieved sigh.

The other boy just stared at him, wide-eyed, with his hands clenching to the empty air in a strange need to grab something solid and grounded. It was like gazing upon an old statue and realizing that it lost its head. One did not know where exactly the head fell too or if someone had stolen it, only that it was defiled and every looker from that point on though it were strange.

Sylvain was always a strong, wild older brother. Never quiet and always tender and sweet. Now, he seemed to be taken over by a mania that Dimitri recognized very keenly and grew quite afraid of. But, unlike Claude whose strangeness spoke of a foreign danger that sought to eat Dimitri, this change in demeanor for Sylvain meant seriousness.

Nothing but seriousness.

"You don't trust Claude," Dimitri finally concluded.

"No, I do not trust Riegan. And neither should you," Sylvain said lowly. "I may have been fooled in the beginning but that boy...he's a fucking snake in the grass, Dima. Danger. Hunger. He's not...a good person."

"It's funny. Felix gave me the same message."

"What message?"

Dimitri reached into his pant pocket and pulled out the small, crumpled, coffee-stained letter Felix had sent to him after the funeral. He was not sure why he kept it—perhaps as a reminder of the wisdom from someone who always been so honest with him. So far, it gave him an ounce of intelligence that kept him sane throughout his dreadful mourning process. Without another word, he handed the paper over to Sylvain who opened it and stared at it with white eyes.

"Ah, so that's what Fe thought as well," he muttered darkly.

"Why exactly are the both of you cautious around Claude. Did he say or do anything to you?"

"Felix warned me about him actually. Much earlier on right after the Autumn Ball. He didn't tell me much, only that Claude was not what he seemed to be. And that he could be the most dangerous person here at this school."

Dimitri wanted to laugh but saw Sylvain's steely stare and kept it buried in his throat. Instead, he shook his head and threw his gaze down to the glistening wetness of the grass. "I...I'm sorry, but that's a rather strong thing to say. I mean, we all know why I'm here..."

"You're here to recover and get better, Dima. He's here because he was _condemned_. This place is a prison for him! And between you and me, he's not learning from therapy much. Look, I came to pick you up from his room a few weeks back before the funeral and I felt nothing but disgusting intent from that snake. You wouldn't know since you were asleep."

Dimitri instinctively touched his neck, where Claude's fingers once curled around tightly. Pressing his throat and squeezing the air out like a balloon. Suddenly, his earlier words were just smoke dissipating in the air without meaning and the boy froze with shame.

"I know you love him Dimitri, but there's something seriously wrong with him. It's bad enough where I know for a fact he's willing to hurt people and not feel like a shithead. Now, that is dangerous," Sylvain concluded with a shake of his head.

"I felt something strange changed in him recently...but that could be with everything that happened so far," the other boy offered weakly.

"Buddy, if I have to really be more honest with you, I think Claude is responsible for Felix's accident."

Dimitri went pale. "Excuse me?!"

"I was thinking about it since Capture the Flag. Think about it: Fe was found on that end of the forest, right in the heart of their territory. He was one of the few who chased after Marianne when she took our flag. And not to mention, how close those stupid traps were to the cliff. It's been keeping me up for _weeks_ , Dima. I can't fucking sleep. It's all too convenient for it to be an accident! And we both know Fe lands on both his feet. He _never_ falls," Sylvain ranted in a half-incoherent ramble like a drunken mad-man, even throwing his hands up for good measure. He stared fully at Dimitri to gauge his reaction, almost afraid of rejection from the young boy. "Are you with me here? Dimitri?"

"W-Why would Claude do such a terrible thing?" Dimitri stuttered, wise in simply indulging Sylvain than to refute the redhead.

"Felix had dirt on him. Well, that's what he kept telling me. He found something out important that he needed to share with you. But..."

"He did mention it—wanting to tell me something important after the competition. Was, was it really about Claude?"

"Well, if that's the case, then your little lover is one controversial figure, huh?" Sylvain hissed with his face so stark-white, Dimitri never thought such a conversation would cause such a heated reaction.

He, himself, felt too overwhelmed, as though someone took his head and dunked it deep below the water to drown. He felt tired. He felt weak. He just wanted to crawl under his new sheets and sleep for a very long, long time. He wanted to hold onto someone and never let go.

Everything was crumbling and Dimitri saw the end coming from a mile away.

"I somewhat know why Claude is here. For the same reason why I'm here," he confessed in a hoarse voice. "But he did not tell me much in detail."

"Details are dangerous. They reveal the true face hiding in the dark. And...if Claude's reasons for being left here are for the same reasons Rufus dropped you and El here, then...then, it should be safe to assume that he's dangerous."

"I'm dangerous."

Sylvain fell into a loud and obnoxious laughing fit, and a savage heat settled in Dimitri's cheeks, burning through the flesh like wildfire. His icy blue eyes, two pained and teary holes in the dimness of the rising dawn. Sylvain reached over after exhausting himself and cupped the young man's hot cheek with a gentle touch, and found some strength in his voice.

"You are not dangerous, Dimitri. You are a scared, little boy in a world that cherished your family's name than your life. Riegan, on the other hand, I don't feel the same thing from him."

"Sylvain..."

"I would not investigate if I were you. The only thing I am begging of you is to break things off with Claude for good. Finish the rest of this year in peace. And all of us can go home. You, me, Ingrid, Dedue...we'll see Fe. Uncle Rufus will watch over you. But please," Sylvain drew in close until his forehead pressed against the young boy's, revealing the shakiness of his pupils. Desperation. "End things with Riegan now and stay close to us. Please, Dimitri."

 **When was the last time Sylvain was like this? Do you remember Miklan?** Edelgard echoed cleverly in Dimitri's ear.

Miklan. Cruel, beautiful Miklan. The older brother who tried to liberate himself from that fraternal status in the boys' troubled childhood. It was no secret that he despised Sylvain, who had come from another marriage—a loving marriage, for their father. Sylvain was the beloved son. Miklan was the abandoned son. And the greatest tragedy was that the feelings of hatred were not mutual.

Sylvain. Young, naive, and innocent Sylvain. He looked up to his older brother and searched for love. And all he received was a shove down a well.

One day, police lights shone red and blue from the depths of the forest. Dimitri had heard from Felix and Ingrid that they had found both brothers down below the dried-up well. Sylvain had come up, shivering white and covered in small splotches of blood. Miklan, on the other hand, had to be brought up in a body bag—the boy was dead, his neck had snapped from the impact against the icy ground.

Sylvain had been stuck with his brother's bleeding, lifeless body for at least five hours. After that, the fingers began to point to Sylvain playing the role of the killer little brother, and it absolutely destroyed him.

Dimitri remembered quite vividly that night, how Sylvain pressed the boy against a wall. Foreheads together and big golden eyes were wide with a heated need. Desperation for an ear. The poor boy was begging Dimitri to listen to him, to understand that it was all an accident and that he simply grabbed Miklan's arm out of instinct to not fall in the well.

Miklan pushed him. It was an accident. Sylvain never wanted to kill the big brother he so often craved love from. When the red head started crying and knelt, rambling madly that he didn't mean to, that he was not a killer, Dimitri held him and promised this undying support.

After that, Sylvain never broke down again, even as more harsher realities came about. But he stayed strong in the face of it all. Until now. And Dimitri could see the slight wetness ebbing from Sylvain's eyes. The stress of Felix's accident, Edelgard's death, and Dimitri's suicide attempt had finally broken the redhead terribly and nothing but truth spilled out of his lips.

However, he felt about Claude no longer mattered. The other boy's shift to a more oppressive, dangerous persona, Sylvain's pleads and outside perspective, and Felix's cryptic warning was enough for Dimitri to understand that this relationship cannot prevail.

And he wanted to cry.

Finally, with a renewed grace and endearment, Dimitri brought his hand and touched Sylvain's. He nodded firmly but he did little to hide the clear pain in his eyes.

"I will end things with Claude. I promise, Sylvain."

A physical relief left the older boy's body, and everything went completely slack. He closed his eyes, sighed out with a small smile, and sniffed.

"You mean it?"

"Yeah...I'll find a private time to talk with him. Not now, but soon when I think about what to say."

"A relationship is still not a good thing right now for you, Dimitri."

"I know."

"But we'll always be here for you. Seriously, I need you to know that," Sylvain urged, not moving away from the young man as if to drive home his words. "I know you really like him—love him, even. But this is good for you. You need to focus on yourself right now. This is healthy."

Dimitri smiled sadly with all of his energy reserved to keeping from outright crying. "Healthy. This is healthy. I'm sure I'll feel better once Claude and I are done."

But what was killing the young man all over again was the slow and gradual descent into becoming a compulsive liar. And he was getting better at it.

_______________________

Dimitri was slow on his promise.

But he was thinking about it—it was simply buried beneath other stronger, occupying emotions and thoughts. And through his mourning, the promise emerged like a bad taste in his mouth and Dimitri no longer wanted to think about it.

The coming weeks ahead proved to be a slow crawl for the Blue Lions House President.

For one, his estranged uncle, Rufus, had been sending him letters each week. At first, they came very rarely with messages penned with a hesitant hand. Mostly asking on his well-being and schoolwork—subjects often spoken from the tone of an acquaintance. Detached, distant, and awkward. But Dimitri took the time to write back regardless, usually in the same tone as he knew not much of Rufus.

Eventually, the letters became a bit warmer in their presentation—language much looser and free, with even some small gifts here and there. Eventually, details managed to clear through the fog of his uncle's mysterious life, many of which showcased an incredibly lonely and solitary existence. Rufus lived alone most of his life in the city of Itha. He had no great love but a constant supply of lovers whose faces and names he cannot recall. He and Dimitri's father had not been truly 'brothers' since the first election—politics was often the breaker of bonds, anyway.

In all, a man without a family.

Perhaps it was this shared existence of loss that allowed the nephew to open up more, and ever slowly, he had begun to look forward to the day he could go live with his uncle.

Second, Dimitri's therapy with Seteth had developed more intensely than he imagined. While the young man snapped out of his comatose state of mourning, there came a great and hollow emptiness that left him aching desperately without any aid in sight.

As Seteth confirmed quite plainly, what the boy was feeling was post-mourning depression—common, especially after losing a loved one. And unlike the actual mourning itself, this was harder to deal with. It clung to the soul, depleted everything emotionally, and rendered all thinking useless and without any direction. The day Dimitri dragged himself to the private session and was walked out, he had not remembered anything Seteth had spoken to him about. Absolutely nothing.

That night, he snuggled up to Dedue and wondered where the time had gone. It had been nearly a month since the funeral. He had not felt like he went anywhere with his rehabilitation; Rufus had revealed to him that he intended to get Dimitri out of the school earlier before the year came to an end; Dimitri had yet to keep his promise to Sylvain.

And Edelgard was still dead. Her voice rang in his head like a church bell.

The rest of the Blue Lions, while relieved that the worse had passed for their house president (especially after the terrifying bathroom incident), was greatly morose over Dimitri's renewed somber state. He still kept quiet for most days and only responded when asked a question. Sometimes, the silence was more comforting than words, and they always tried to include him in everything they do. Usually, Dimitri just sat in the background and stared off into space until the activity was done.

Nights were sleepless and long, even if Dimitri slept in the same room as Dedue or Sylvain. He could only stare at the darkness and waited for fatigue to either claim him or the sunrise to come.

And everything stung painfully, so Dimitri decided to combat that through excessive schoolwork.

It was a quiet evening in the library when he encountered a familiar face that made his still heart flutter with feeling. From the corner of the far table, the young woman lifted her head up at a sound—dark, weary eyes and a sleepy head of blue. Dimitri stopped just short of her table, frozen by the dull stare that radiated from the darkness.

Marianne blinked rapidly at the new visitor as if trying to decipher an image from far away. Once she recognized who was there, she gave an incredibly weak smile—which always took a strenuous amount of effort on her part, and gestured shortly at the free spot across from her. Beside her were signs of another student considering the open book, tubes of lipstick, and a pink backpack, which hung loosely from the back of the empty seat.

Nonetheless, Dimitri accepted quietly and sat down.

At the beginning of the year, Dimitri and Marianne had found a strange companionship in one another—two kindred souls in the great confusion of their place at the boarding school. It was enough where they had decided to become study buddies and often done work together at the library for long hours. However, since Edelgard's death, the sessions had not picked up and Dimitri had nearly forgotten all about his quiet friend.

The sight of Marianne again was comforting, to say the least. Especially since neither of them was actively social or felt comfortable enough to do so. The blue-haired maiden had always been on the quieter end of things and stuck to her few friends very attentively, in an unconscious fear of being swept away by the growing chaos around her.

One of the many sentiments Dimitri understood quite well.

"It has been a long time, Dimitri," Marianne braved by speaking first, though it came out very small. "How have you been?"

The young man smiled shortly. "Better now that I'm speaking to you," he said.

"I wanted to bring you some food but Hilda told me that you needed your space. Are your sessions with Seteth helping?"

"Goddess, I hope," Dimitri muttered and peered off to the side, trying to recall what exactly the Dean had told him in their last session. He couldn't remember. "But I think just talking with someone is helping me."

"It's terrible what happened," Marianne murmured, voice aching with a familiar pain. She looked down at her hands, which fumbled beneath the table, and closed her eyes. "Oh, I'm so, so sorry. Truly. I know it won't fix what happened but---"

"No, please," Dimitri said suddenly and shook his head. "Your support is very dear to me. Thank you."

The young woman smiled. "I missed you, Dimitri."

"I missed you too. How have you been, personally?"

"Well," she clasped her hands over her book and stared off at the pile of things on the space next to her, belonging to the invisible companion. "Hilda and I were just studying for the upcoming literature finals. She had to go use the bathroom so I've been trying to catch up. And for the past few weeks, we as a house have been doing good work in group therapy...but."

Dimitri tilted his head at the dark drop of Marianne's tone and frowned. "But what? Did something happen to you or Hilda?"

"Oh no, not with us! But...well...Claude's been acting very strange lately."

The mention of the Golden Deer House President's name immediately caused Dimitri to stiffen with interest. It had been quite some time since their encounter at the gates of the Black Eagle house and even then, they parted ways in a rather cool attitude. The young man could still feel the surging heat from his lover's devastatingly powerful stare as he left that day. A knife being buried into his spine and pulled downward.

He leaned forward, blue eyes drawn over hesitantly before regarding Marianne carefully. "Strange in what way?"

"I'm not sure. But Claude's usually so happy. He liked to joke around and let loose. He made things feel carefree. But these days, he just seems...so far away."

"Like sad?"

"Not sad? Just far away. Like he's daydreaming or sleepwalking. He doesn't speak much with us anymore, not even to Hilda."

Dimitri sat back against his seat and frowned. He wondered if their long separation had caused him despair in one way or another. Then again, Claude seemed incredibly desperate in calling Dimitri back to his room and all the boy could think of was Felix's warning and the loving fingers around his throat. It was all too bizarre to comprehend and Dimitri's head rang like a bell.

"I...hope things are alright with him," was all he could say and Marianne nodded in agreement.

"He's been stuck in his room most days. Lorenz says that he's been taking naps a lot but I can hear him."

"Hear him?"

"I think he just lies in bed and mutters to himself. Whatever pain he's going through, I really want to help him through it. It is painful to see someone you care about going through so much."

At that moment, Dimitri remembered Sylvain; the quivering, pleading eyes of a desperate older brother. Words of warning. A dangerous theory left in the air. The young man perked up with a newly found energy and turned to Marianne, his expression suddenly strong and lively.

"Marianne, can I ask you something?"

"Of course, what is it, Dimitri---"

"Sorry, Mari! I was just fixing my hair---" Hilda stopped right at the border of the corner's shadow when she spotted Dimitri.

The pretty young woman, who’s always had such a notorious reputation for being a lazy flirt around campus, and a teasing spirit whenever she invaded Dimitri and Marianne's study sessions, bore a great big smile and stalked over, whistling. Her hands fell naturally around her hips and a low coo emitted from her perky lips.

"Dimitri~ It's been much too long! It's good to see you out of the house for once," Hilda remarked kindly and playfully poked his cheek. The young man drew back with a clear blush and she cackled before sitting down on her side. "I see you and Mari are back in the swing of things. What are you two doves are talking about?"

"Would you mind asking if Hilda here?" Marianne asked.

"No, I don't mind," Dimitri reassured quietly and clasped his hands together on the table.

He was not sure where to begin, especially now with Hilda here. The pink-haired woman rested her delicate chin on top of her palm and stared out at Dimitri with abating eye; Marianne waited patiently, if not a bit nervous. An audience of two and Dimitri was already choking up.

Edelgard was so much better at talking to people.

"Marianne," he started in a shaky voice and gazed at the blue-haired maiden. "Do you remember the events that happened after you picked up our banner during Capture the Flag?"

Almost immediately, Marianne's gentle face fell to a depressive recluse, veiled by the shadows of the library's corner; she slinked back into her seat, and turned to look at the floor in an audible disquieting nature, one Hilda immediately comforted with a protective hand on her shoulder.

It was not the reaction Dimitri had been expecting, though Felix's accident had still hung over their heads freshly. Marianne was a deeply empathetic figure and he assumed correctly that the young woman believed she had a hand in his fall.

Dimitri was quick on the draw.

"You're not at fault for what happened to Felix. I just want to clear some details up that confused me...for my benefit," he said slowly, catching Hilda's sharpened gaze from the corner of his eye.

Marianne simply nodded and kept her attention and away, afraid to meet with the young man's pleading look. She was responsive and agreeable, but Dimitri did not wish to turn this into an interrogation.

"Why do you need Marianne's perspective? All she did was carry the damn banner," Hilda rebuked harshly with a bite, which was rare for the young woman.

"I know, and I think that's important."

"Why so?"

"I think someone may have pushed Felix while he was chasing Marianne."

No one spoke.

Hilda, with absolutely no expression on her face, reached over and took a tube of lipstick from the table. Very slowly, she coated her lips red and puckered loudly despite not having a mirror. The faint smell from the makeup made Dimitri's headache and he felt dizzy. Finally, the Goneril girl tucked it back into her dress pocket and turned to Marianne with a straight and pacified look.

"It's okay, Mari. He just wants to talk."

"Oh! Okay," the blue-haired girl said, suddenly relieved as her shoulder sagged ever-so-slightly. She turned to greet Dimitri and nodded politely. "I'll tell you all that I can though I did not see anyone else in the woods with me that day."

"That's fine. I just want your perspective," he clarified and silently wondered what mystical power Hilda had for the shy Marianne to suddenly want to start talking.

"Well, I don't remember much. I think Claude had sent out Leonie, Lorenz, and Raphael first. Lysithea stayed in the trees to keep watch and Hilda and Ignatz were at the base. I was also there but I had to wait for the moment."

"Moment for what?"

"When the first three could distract everyone and there was some chaos in the middle with all three houses. Then I was instructed to slip through the forest and behind the battle to the flags. When I took your banner, Felix saw me and he tried to come after me."

"And you ran over towards the edge of the woods to lose him."

Marianne nodded with a small frown. "I just kept running and didn't look back. I heard him behind me the whole time...but then I didn't hear him. I assumed he either stopped or got caught in Leonie's traps, which she put out all over our territory."

"Did you run in that area because you knew there were traps over there?"

"Oh no, I didn't know where exactly she put the traps, to be honest. I was afraid of being caught myself. No, I went down the path near the edge because that's what Claude explicitly told me to do," she finally explained.

 **Claude told her. Why?** Edelgard said with a tone that implied further knowledge than she let on; Dimitri was chilled to his heart and sat very still and white.

"He told you? I thought he said that you should just take the route down the middle," Hilda spoke for the young man in a voice of equal surprise. Her mouth twitched, strangely irritated with an unpleasant revelation.

Marianne blinked and shrugged slightly. "Well, Claude predicted that Felix might have come after me and suggested that I take the back road so I could lose him in the forest. I mean, he was not wrong."

"No...he wasn't," Dimitri muttered lowly.

A deep, swelling sickness at a climbing notion and Sylvain's tragic theory unified with his white shock, spilling out and over into his stomach like pure bile. Dimitri's dizzying gaze centered over to Hilda, who also shared an expression of discontent as she peered down at the table.

"And Claude...where was he?"

"In the forest to scope," Hilda said tightly. She chuckled sardonically, the sound biting into the once jovial air of the calm library. The young woman's hand curled up into her textbook and she returned Dimitri's stare. "You know...it's funny. Your late sister asked me the same question when she was investigating Felix's accident."

Dimitri stood up abruptly, his chair screeching violently across the floor—leaving thin marks on the wood. The young man swallowed down something harsh and nodded particularly to nothing, as though he were speaking to nothing to a phantom the whole time. Dimitri's silence was overpowering, and all but hot blood curled up through his veins.

He could not see clearly and everything blurred with irritable streaks of colors.

"Claude misses you greatly. Perhaps you should give him a visit to his room," Hilda offered very slowly—carefully, her eyes glowing with lingering intent. Warning.

Dimitri swallowed again, but it was dry this time.

"Is he? You know what, I think I will."

"Give the Stag King all my love."

Dimitri stalked off without another word, leaving the two girls alone in their shared silence. Finally, Marianne looked to Hilda with alight, pensive eyes, and cocked her head curiously.

"Was...it something I said?"

Hilda laughed. "No baby, you did wonderfully. Just wonderfully," she reassured kindly and leaned in to leave a big, red kiss on Marianne's pink cheek.

The mark of a lover plastered right on the white skin.

_______________________

Sunlight streamed through the wide panned windows and illuminated the light oak flooring, which connected into one another like the pieces of a puzzle of the Golden Deer House. The entire building creaked the cool air of spring; flower petals, sunshine, and the presence of light pollen dancing right in the light. However, the absence of all but one was felt throughout the entire house, and it oppressed the otherwise pleasant and amiable appearance.

Dimitri already felt strange as it were, to walk through the semi-empty house alone. Though he went alone here last time, he hardly remembered his sleepwalking wanderings. The young man peered all around the disorganized kitchen, filled with plates of syrup and bowls of half-eaten fruit left to rot on the counter. There were clothes flung all over the place and a book here and there.

The young man paid no mind to the obvious chaos all around him and carefully ascended the steps up the second floor. As he climbed the top and came into the main hallway, something strong and ghastly struck him right in his nose.

It was thick, with an active and pulsing swelling that made Dimitri choke and back away instinctively—alcohol. Not simply alcohol but one that clearly thrived and fermented for hours and hours.

Almost immediately, Dimitri, who spotted the slightly-open creak of a door where the monstrous smell was seeping from and out into the upper part of the house like mist, stalked over loudly and flung it open.

The first thing he saw was a more chaotic and malevolent mess than what usually occupied Claude's room, with more books and even torn pages all over the floor and desk. However, there was a new addition, one that made him stiffen white with inaudible shock.

A few bottles of wine on the floor, nearly depleted with small purple trails decorating the wood. There were more bottles on the table and bed, and Dimitri's mind ran in violent circles as he looked all around the room.

And right smack in the middle of the bed, hunched over darkly with a half bottle of wine settled like poison in his hands, was Claude. The young man did not notice Dimitri there right away; he lifted his head up in a sluggish manner—almost in a lull—with dark unkempt hair shadowing the hollow expression underneath. Mechanically, Claude took a grand sweep across the room, even past Dimitri at the doorway, shrugged halfheartedly, and brought the bottle to his lips.

"Claude."

The young man stopped, blinking with awakening, and he looked around again in a half-frantic state. Finally, the drunken, drowning, dark eyes of green grazed over the still form of a visitor by the doorway, and Claude tilted his head ever so slightly.

"Hilda? Are you back already?"

"Claude, it's me," Dimitri said in a rather hoarse voice.

"Who's me?" The Golden Deer House President slurred with a loose shake of his head. His nose wrinkled and he wiped his nose with a loud sniffle. "I'm fine, I'm _fine_ —just shut the door on your way out."

It was there that Dimitri keenly caught on that Claude's state was far worse than he had anticipated. Drunk but with the sort of sickness that clouded the eyes and made useless the mind. The mouth sought for thirst and could be quenched and the blood ran slow and cold. At that moment, most if not all of Dimitri's anger died away in a hiss and the only thing the young man could feel is a growing worry.

"Claude, it's Dimitri." His voice came out deep, rolling and soft like a distant thunderstorm. He walked over, ignoring the mess on the floor, and rested his knees against the bed. The sudden weight surprised Claude and he fumbled about until, finally, he stared straight into Dimitri's concerned gaze.

And then, Claude knew.

"Do you see me?"

"Not quite," the other boy said honestly and blinked slowly as if trying to see if Dimitri was some sort of phantom.

"You have been drinking...a lot. For how many days?"

"I lost count."

"Why did you do this? Look at your room—what is happening with you?"

"I've been waiting."

Dimitri's face softened and he sat back. "Waiting for what?" he asked hesitantly.

"Not sure...," Claude replied once again, fully honest. He was not looking at Dimitri but rather, over his shoulder, at the far wall with a clouded gaze.

"Come, you had more than enough. Let me see the---"

The color drained from Claude's face. His hand tightened on the wine bottle but before it could shatter, he threw it over Dimitri's shoulder and it smashed against the far back wall—purple liquid spraying out all over the place with large pieces of green glass scattering in different directions.

"There! You want your drink, Dimitri? You can lick it up!" Claude hissed in a slurred voice and laughed out loudly, hands desperately clinging onto the sheets around him.

Whatever made him suddenly belligerent threw Dimitri off into an incredibly apprehensive state. He peered widely at Claude, in a mixture of horror and shock. If he had thought Claude was strange and alien before, he certainly was now; boiling, visible anger was rare to the man.

Dimitri had never witnessed Claude's rage before and wondered if this was because of the wine or was he truly and overwhelmingly angry. Carefully, he settled down and placed both hands on Claude's arms. He felt the unconscious shiver from the other body and came up attentively, lacking in any expected anger.

"Look at you...you see what I'm talking about?" Dimitri ushered very gently without smiling. "Claude, you need to stop, right now."

Claude's hot-red countenance gradually fell; he looked nervous—guilty even like a dog who ripped their master's pillows, and looked elsewhere. Dimitri did not say anything else in fear of further upsetting the young man.

He pushed Claude back with extreme gentleness and propped up the pillows right under his head for support. The softness of the bed must have had a strange effect on Claude for his eyes fluttered with a restrained fatigue and a sigh escaped his lips. His nose wrinkled, smelling something beyond the sticky heat of his breath.

"Peppermint."

"Pardon?"

"I miss your smell...peppermint," Claude repeated to the air and rubbed his eyes. "I think it's peppermint. Maybe Faerghus pine? Something sharp. Something nature-ish. A storm? I don't know..."

Dimitri felt a small and familiar smile creep along his face. "Oh, I never noticed. I always think that I smell like sweat or something. Do you like it?"

"Yes... _always_."

Claude's hot hand reached over and gripped the young man's pale cold arm. Clinging on gently with long fingers running down the skin and to the palm where Dimitri's hand closed together. They stayed like that, taking in each other's heat. Claude's breathing slowed immensely and he closed his eyes as if to sleep.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm not myself. I thought—I thought I was okay. I did, but I can't even...I don't know."

"Take your time, Claude."

"I really missed you, Dimitri." Claude swallowed down something heavy. Sweat traveled down his furrowed brow and left behind a glistening trail against dark skin.

Dimitri reached over and gently wiped it away with his thumb. "I missed you too," he murmured softly.

That was the truth, which he allowed to slip past his lips and hang in the air like a pleasant after smell of perfume. It was not that he had been denying himself his usual intensity of feelings—it's been there and has always been there.

Even with all of the internal conflict that kept him awake at night, the core of his feelings had never wavered. And now, the only thing he felt was the faint throbbing of his heart pulsing at the center, the reminder of the weakness of human emotion and the waywardness of love.

"Why did you come over?" Claude asked weakly with a soft smile and reached to cup Dimitri's cheek, desperate in chasing a coolness.

_End things with Riegan now and stay close to us. Please, Dimitri._

Dimitri's heart stopped with a pained realization.

_You know...it's funny. Your late sister asked me the same question when she was investigating Felix's accident._

**Are you going to break your promise, Dimitri?**

"Dimitri?" Claude blinked through the fog and propped himself up on his arms.

He was staring very longingly at the young man, who had not moved for quite some time. Dimitri knew Claude was expecting him to say more for he always so open and free with his emotions—his heart was always on his sleeve and out for everyone to see.

But not this time.

Finally, Dimitri blinked himself back into the room and gazed very straightly at Claude with a fire renewed. He smiled mechanically and nodded.

"I just came to check up on you. It's been too long, Claude."

"It has—the only thing I thought of was you. It's been bothering me why I'm losing control of myself. I actually don't know what's wrong with me," Claude said with a loose, detached laugh. He shook his head as the humor died away and all that was left with a hollow, weary look.

"You should sleep, Claude," Dimitri said and even reached over to tuck the young man in. The look on his face was still so sweet and placid, even as the corners of his mouth twitched, and his eyes glistened darkly. "On your side now."

"Will you stay?" The young man asked with a hint of desperation.

"Until you sleep. Then I'll clean up your room and have Hilda watch over you."

"You can stay for the night." **Will you stay for the night?** "Please?"

His eyes were dark, his skin paler than usual. He smelled like sandalwood and a foreign spice Dimitri never was able to put his tongue on in recognizing. But it made everything intangible and exciting. Claude wasn't pleading with him to stay out of loneliness; he loved him genuinely. He was waiting for Dimitri's response, like a lover in call. When he finally reached for Dimitri at last, the young man moved back but nodded gently.

"I need to feel you again," Claude said quietly.

Dimitri clasped the back of the other boy's neck and drew to his quivering lips. The alcohol was still so strong and that was the only thing Dimitri think of as their tongues eloped, though there was another smell. An earthy, muddy smell—from Claude's skin beneath his sweaty t-shirt, the one he probably wore for days and days on end. His mouth was wet and warm and welcomed eagerly Dimitri's seeking tongue slipping between his teeth.

Meanwhile, Claude's hands traveled over Dimitri's strong back—under his shirt and up against his spine, fingers grasping at the skin, enough to leave marks. Dimitri's own hands slipped over and gently held Claude's slender hips, thumbs probing right under the thin waistband of his pants—teasing. The dark-haired boy shuffled his shoulder up as if trying to encourage his lover to go further; Dimitri pulled away and Claude groaned in protest.

"You have to sleep. You're drunk," Dimitri stated coolly, wiping his mouth.

"Only a little—please, it's been so long. And I'm not usually the one who asks in this relationship," Claude reminded him with dark eyes. It was an unexpected switch and neither boys knew what to do in their new positions.

"After. Just sleep—I'll be here all night," Dimitri muttered reassuringly and touched his cheek.

Claude closed his eyes. "Do you love me?"

A question Dimitri knew the answer to. He also knew of the cruelty if he should say it and then commit his intended betrayal later on. However, there were other loves much greater and Dimitri looked Claude right in the eye without a hint of a smile.

"As the moon loves the stars."

_______________________

That night, after Dimitri had cleaned up most of the boy's room—wine bottles in the recycling, trash, and other miscellaneous thrown away and tidied up, he sat down on the bed and peered off into the darkness.

Claude was sleeping on his side, snoring ever so softly with the faint rise and fall of the bedsheets. The moonlight glowed through the window with gentle rays and separated the shadows of the room in patterns of half. Dimitri sat and waited—for what, he was not sure. He was not feeling tired nor was he feeling like staying too long.

**What do you intend to do?**

"Break up with him tomorrow. That's what."

**What about Felix?**

"I won't ask him. I already know." Dimitri closed his eyes. "If he tells me, then I will work towards forgiving him. But I won't ask—I love him too much. I'll live with my ignorance."

**You will break his heart and leave forever. That is a crueler punishment.**

"Are you suggesting something lighter?"

Edelgard did not say. Instead, she allowed the silence of the night to crawl in between them and Dimitri felt irritable.

He broke the very shallow stalemate he held for Claude and looked over his shoulder at the boy. He was sleeping, facing the other wall; his back was turned to Dimitri, shirt pulled up to expose the skin beneath. And the long, red scars that stretched out in frantic patterns glowed eerily in the darkness.

"Did you really kill yourself, El?" Dimitri asked in a whisper, hypnotized by the strange scratches.

A laugh.

**Go home, Dimitri. There is nothing else for you here. Not anymore.**

Then there was a faint knock at the door; Dimitri already knew who it was.

He got up slowly and carefully walked over to open to the familiar sight of golden eyes and red hair. The young man made a gesture and Sylvain nodded patiently.

Dimitri went back over and gently threw the blanket over Claude's shivering form, an instinctual act of kindness that made him feel fulfilled again, and he indulged in his intimate gesture for the young man. Claude curled up with the new arrival of warmth and a name softly slipped out of his lips. A name—he called out for Dimitri, ever-so dreamless and affectionate.

And for that second, Dimitri made it last and took in the last remnants of his love for the boy on the bed. He leaned over, whispered something inaudible, and placed a gentle kiss on Claude's cheek.

Finally, without looking back, he slipped away from his cage and out into the open, waiting world. The birds were singing this time and in the plain darkness of the night, Dimitri reaffirmed his conviction to Sylvain to the latter's relief.

And for the remaining time he had with Claude, he would make it happy before the fall.

_______________________

Winter had long passed with the beginning of Spring flourishing lively throughout the school grounds. The season of rebirth and love as many referred and most of the students rejoiced at the sight of the warm sunlight and morning glories growing along with the buildings. It was a benign Spring, not too hot, and it welcomed everyone with a glorious sunrise.

However, waking up every morning, Dimitri felt an astonishing absence of suffering, something that he had long gotten used to. The gentle glow of the sunlight radiated through the closed curtains of his window and warmed the coolness of his face.

It was light all around; nothing but light and light throughout the whole day until the night was white. His legs and arms hung limply on all sides of his bed and he stared up at the cracks of his ceiling. He did not feel like getting up; he did not feel like eating and laid in his changed clothes. He just did not want to think. From somewhere deep down, a door opened and a familiar voice sang throughout the house in greeting.

Dimitri threw back his sheets and exposed his body to the warm spring air. He pushed himself up and rubbed his eyes, clearing away and somewhat ready to face the day. The young man quickly cleaned up his room until he felt a little better about himself and then, without a second thought, Dimitri slipped out of his room and came down the stairs in a steady and careful descent.

Standing in the living room, a cutting figure draped in clothes and scents that made Dimitri slightly nervous and swoon was _him_. He spotted the boy coming down the stairs, gave a flashy smile, and a confident wave.

Dimitri could not help himself but smile back, even as he mentally prepared himself for their last day.

"Good morning, Claude. Are you ready?"

_______________________

It was a free day for the students so everyone was out and about around the school with the exception of the forest, which was locked away for the rest of the year. With the coming of Spring came the knowledge that, for most, their year of rehabilitation will come to an end.

Some students were already approved to leave early by the end of the month, having completed their therapy and ready to return home. The energy was nothing but jovial and even a bit morose with the thought of departure.

For many, they would not see each other again.

Dimitri, in particular, had surprised Claude much earlier on with an incredibly striking and unarmed question: a sexual fantasy of Claude's he always wanted to indulge in that would make him undoubtedly happy. The young man was so taken back by the strength and suddenness of Dimitri's question that he choked on the chocolate milk he was drinking and coughed loudly throughout the dining hall. And even as all eyes fell on the pair, Dimitri kept his gaze leveled and repeated the question again with some vigor. Claude's big green eyes leered at him, unconvinced of something, and composed himself back on their small, private table.

"A fantasy that is...sexual. So a kink?"

"What is a kink?" Dimitri asked plainly with his brow raised. This only made Claude bury his face in his hands and groan out loudly. The latter was not sure why the boy was being so dramatic—there was so much terminology these days that he stopped consulting with Sylvain out of sheer annoyance over having to keep up with an encyclopedia of lovemaking. "No, just tell me your fantasy."

"Why would you want to know? Do you find our lovemaking boring?"

"No, I'm just curious. And besides, don't you want to try it out later?"

Claude's eyelashes fluttered rapidly like the rapid take-off of a butterfly. Dimitri always thought the boy had the prettiest eyes—green as dark and inescapable as the depths of a forest, even with hints of shadow swirling at the corners. It was hypnotizing, really, and sometimes, Dimitri found himself staring shamelessly as the other boy chatted.

Now, those eyes had a murky, drained-out color that reminded him faintly of worn-down wallpaper; Claude was still so melancholic and Dimitri himself was distant. And he wondered if his lover knew of the coming end or if he was, for the first time since his arrival to Garreg Mach, unable to read the air. Perhaps that was what scared Dimitri the most.

"I don't think you'll be too keen on hearing what my dreams-in-the-dark are," Claude chuckled with a hint of caution.

"Is it embarrassing?" Dimitri asked and cocked his head curiously. He brought his hand over across the small space of the table and clasped over the other boy in a rare show of forwarding affection. "I'm open to anything. I just want to make you happy today."

"You've been awfully strange lately," Claude laughed nervously; Dimitri was not smiling and made it clear that he would wait. His fingers tapped in a slow, calculated succession on the table and the young man leaned forward.

"But you are thinking about it."

"I...I am. And you're...open to exploring?"

Dimitri nodded slowly. "Why not? Won't it make you happy?" He asked sincerely.

**You're punishing him—setting him up for the inevitable fall. You want him to remember you. You want to make him happy so you can take it all away. You're cruel.**

Claude cleared his throat and stood up abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor and tipping slightly. Dimitri could not help himself but smile shortly, completely aware at this point of the possessive effect of his inquires and words. In fact, Claude's face was brimming red and he bore a funny frown on his face as he scratched the back of his neck and clicked his tongue in defeat.

"Can we...take this to my room?"

Dimitri wiped his mouth and stood up. "Of course. Lead the way."

**He won't fall with grace.**

_______________________

If there was one thing Dimitri did not like, it was a lack of sight.

He did not fear the darkness or even the idea of blindness itself; he feared the idea of being trapped without knowing how to get out or who was coming after him. He feared the thought of unable to see a threat right in front of him and all Dimitri could do is lay there, immobilized, and listen—listen to the predator circling around him in the room with an intense and unmoving gaze to his exposed figure.

Despite the blindfold wrapped around tightly over his eyes, Dimitri still lifted his head up as if he were trying to look; a warm hand shot out and pressed down on his neck. Familiar, killing fingers wrapped around the base of his throat, right over his beating pulse and into his vocals. He made a sound and laid back down on the bed. Above him, the audible tension of rope pulling roughly against the soft skin of his wrists caused him to hiss out against his gag.

A low hum.

"Dimitri," the voice said in a sing-song like a drawl; his name an elongated note of a bigger melody. Someone drew close to his face, fingers still latched around the neck. A familiar smell of sandalwood and mud and everything fell into place very serenely without a hint of verbal protest.

The voice smiled. "Are you sure you wanna go through with this? You can shake your head and I can release you. Otherwise, I'll go ahead and take what I've been _waiting_ for," he whispered deeply, hunger and longing spilling in between the bodies.

Dimitri nodded and despite his blindness, could sense the flaring heat of the latter's boiling gaze. The other hand reached over and ran down the young man's cold, pale chest with a troubling fascination that made Dimitri flush wildly on the inside. He throbbed and leaped unconsciously at Claude's attention at he had been for the year, and the loss of his earlier wisdom only left behind an eager lover.

"You tempt me so much, sweet little boy. Keeping away from me for months and invading my dreams like a siren. Now you're all tied up with nowhere to go—what are you going now?" Claude teased and rolled the tip of Dimitri's pink nipple in between his rough fingers. The sensation shot an electrical pleasure down the captured boy's spine, and he lurched back with a muffled, pained groan.

Everything was getting hot— _it was hard to breath_ —Dimitri could not see. His breathing became haggard and irregular, especially with the gag covering his mouth. Instead, he exhaled deeply through his nose until his heart calmed. Then Dimitri felt it: a hot mouth clasped over his nipple, sucking and biting. Then came the wet tongue.

Meanwhile, Claude's hands grew anxious and began to roam; one leaving Dimitri's throat and traveling down to the other nipple, flickering harshly while the other reached over and clenched the young man's perky ass.

Dimitri gasped into his gag and his eyes flickered around the tight fabric of his blindfold. He knew Claude had completely trapped him on all ends, with his wrists irritably bound above with thick rope. All Dimitri could do is squirm and groan with no escape in sight.

Claude's mouth kept sucking eagerly, as the hand squeezing Dimitri's ass slowly slinked over and probed a finger at his entrance. Almost immediately, the young man arched up from the sudden touch, his cock red and aching. The mouth pulled away, leaving a trail of saliva; an amused chuckle radiated through the air—dark and murky—and the other hand grappling that hardened length already wet with precum.

"Eager, aren't you?" Claude murmured and slipped one finger into Dimitri, stretching his twitching, slick walls out. The boy groaned, heaving out erratically with his blindfold already wet with tears. For some reason Dimitri did not want to think about, this only made Claude even more excited and a second finger was added.

Dimitri already felt full. He felt like Claude was splitting in half as his teasing, striking fingers thrust in deeply; a fire soared and pulsed from the pit of his stomach to his stroked, twitching cock, and Dimitri cried into his gag.

"You're so fucking tight. It's been a while, huh?" Claude hissed as he pushed his fingers up and against Dimitri's prostate; the young man cried out—cock hardened with the threat of coming – and his body fought against his painful restraints with the rope burning into his white skin. "Don't worry, my lion. I'll fill you up. I'll fill you so much that you won't be able to stand up."

He began to thrust faster, harder, adding a third finger until Dimitri was being fully impaled; heat exploded somewhere deep in his penetrated insides, and he threw his head back, shaking wildly and sobbing—choking on his gag. A bitch in heat, already wiggling and begging with want.

And a notion to stop.

This was nothing like all the other moments they shared. While their sex life has always been rough, enough to break Claude's bed a few times, Dimitri at least could see his lover—could tell him things with the chance of escape. He knew that Claude would stop if he had spoken or even looked in pain. But this time was different.

This time, he indulged in Claude's deepest fantasy. And what Claude truly wanted was not some strange foreplay as Dimitri had been expecting, but _domination_.

He wanted Dimitri tied up again as they usually do, but to also be blindfolded and gagged with no chance of looking around or making any noise—of saying no. Dimitri realized something incredibly crucial as Claude violently thrust his fingers through his wet walls and grunted near his ear like a beast.

He wanted to dominate him.

He wanted to claim him.

He wanted to violate him.

At that moment, Dimitri, who was so certain that he would give Claude one happy night together before the ugly business of leaving, no longer wanted to be here. When he heard the dark, panting laughter above him, he became frightened.

Tied up, blind, and mute, with no chance at power.

Dimitri began to cry out and shake his head desperately. Claude suddenly withdrew his juice-covered fingers and stroked the young man until the fire burst through the top, and he came violently with a loud, aching sob, all over his chest. Dimitri collapsed back on the bed—sweat and cum intermingling against the sheets as he breathed for air.

And for a minute, relief settled in and he wondered if Claude was done.

"Oh, but we’re not done yet, my bride," growled the dark voice and he suddenly pushed Dimitri's legs apart and up to his coated chest. Panic soared to his heart and Dimitri shook his head and tried stating his rejection loudly, but it was all wet, whorish noises through his gag.

Claude's own arousal was thick—twitching violently with precum, and Dimitri felt the length brush between his thighs. He kept crying, screaming even, and tried to pull against his restraints only for the coarseness of the rope to bit into his skin.

"Keep crying—call for help. No one can hear you. No one will ever hear you—just me," Claude muttered lowly.

His cock pulsed and twitched against Dimitri's hole and with a dangerous eagerness, he pushed in slowly. Dimitri threw his head to the side and choked on his gag, making wet, huffing noises with his bruised, cum-covered chest heaving. He was tight. Very tight, even after the fingering, and he clenched around the invading length as it pushed in all the way. 

Claude groaned out audibly and gave a half laugh as he rolled his hips and watched with absolute pleasure as Dimitri's immobilized body thrashed around wildly on the bed. His blindfold was wet and his gag continued to secure between his swollen lips.

Dimitri could do absolutely nothing, not even shake his head and try to gesture to Claude to _stop_ ; his thick cock was rolling and forcing itself between his tight, hot walls, and Dimitri saw nothing but flashes of white. His body went slack and the flame in his groins returned.

"By the fucking goddess," Claude hissed malevolently and snapped his hips in, sending an electric shock to his love. "You're still so fucking tight. You were meant to be fucked and bred, huh? Well, my lion, what do you say?"

Dimitri tried to say _please, stop—slow down_ , but all came out in a jumbled mess of moans and half-sobs. He shook his head and that was the signal enough for the fantasy to nose dive harshly.

Claude began to shallow fuck Dimitri with his slick-covered hand clutching onto Dimitri's neck—tight, intent, and oppressive. His cock dragged the young man's walls out painfully before snapping back in roughly with cum and slick forcing back in.

Dimitri wailed muffled noises as his entire body shook violently up against the headboard. With every push, the rope around his wrist scratched against his skin until Dimitri was certain that he was bleeding.

"Yeah? Do you like that? Fucking whore—you would let anyone do you, right?" Claude growled from above with the far-away voice of a stranger's.

Dimitri shook his head and the darker boy chuckled incredulously.

"Naughty, naughty little thing. I don't like liars. But that's fine because you're mine. And you will always be mine. And I'm about to show you right now."

Claude's hips snapped in roughly and his pace quickened. Soon his fucking turned brutal—hard, and absolutely relentless. Noises of wet skin slapping against wet skin filled the room as his cock plunged deep into the boy without rest, no mercy for the crying or screaming or how Dimitri kept repeating a muffled word-turned noise of thrilled moaning.

"Fucking take it— _take it all_!" He grunted roughly and squeezed Dimitri's neck with both hands.

That was it: Dimitri arched up and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. He was being raped like a common bitch with a force strong enough to break him in half; he was choking near-death to the terrifyingly pressing fingers around his delicate throat; he kept coming but Claude kept thrusting; his prostate was getting stabbed and penetrated, sending waves to fire to Dimitri's chest.

He was going to die here, covered in cum and slick, twitching around a thick length aiming to split him in half.

"That’s right. Fucking cry for me. Wail, moan. You belong to me. Let me hear you—let me hear all of you!" Claude cried out—demanded sharply and struck Dimitri's prostate directly.

His lover froze stiff as if he flicked a switch deep in his body, and Claude continued to fuck that comatose body. He was chasing an escalating heat, marking a neck tightly with the imprint of a purple ring like a dog's collar.

Dimitri visibly choked on his spit, was thrown back against the headboard until his head rang, and momentarily slipped away. As he stared at the white fog, which invaded his sight, he could feel how Claude's balls slapped against the base of his ass, or how his thrusting became relentless with a newly founded vigor.

A mantra of a madman: _You thought you could leave me? I'll mark you so everyone knows exactly who you belong to. My lion, my lion alone. I'll fuck you so badly, your body will ache for no one else but me. Just me!_

Dimitri couldn’t move. He couldn’t see. He was being violently taken over by a force of love even he couldn’t comprehend.

Finally, when he returned to the room and the darkness, he managed to bite through the gag and gave a hoarse cry. Dimitri's weary, overstimulated cock shot up and sprayed hot ribbons of cum all over his body; spraying white on his bruised nipples, his face, his nose. The cock twitched out more, even shivering a bit from the force.

But Claude was not done yet.

He kept thrusting deeply in the boy through his orgasm, violently stabbing into that overstimulated and abused body. His cock twitched hotly against Dimitri's prostate with anticipation, wet and impatient.

"Take it...take it, just fucking _take it_!" Claude roared out with a snarl.

With one great final movement, he plunged deeply and spilled everything into Dimitri's guts—coating his womb white and sticky. The boys both screamed out as his cum overloaded and spilled out from at the entrance. A puddle formed beneath Dimitri's ass and _dripped_ from the excess.

Dimitri's blindfold finally fell from his eyes—loosened during the rough play, and he stared with teary, clouded eyes at Claude.

The Stag King grinned; a half-crescent moon in the black of night, and finally, he fell down against Dimitri's body. Their sticky chests pressed together and limp cocks side by side. Their haggard breathing slowed to an inaudible drawl except for Dimitri's occasional half-sobs.

Claude's hand slinked over, but to hurt this time; his fingers gently trailed over the clear dark ring around Dimitri's neck before settling right on top of the young man's permanent arrow scar. He laughed against the paler skin, a sound happier than anything Dimitri had ever heard from him.

Happy. Euphoric. A personal utopia.

"Dimitri, I love you," Claude murmured and closed his eyes; his hand placed protectively over that arrow scar. "I was scared that you were drifting away from me...but I'm happy. I'm so happy right now that I could explode."

"Dimitri? Are you listening? I love you."

"...I love you too." **You're going to leave him.** "I love you as the moon loves the stars." **You're going to kill him.** "Eternal and true." **He will never recover from this pain.**

Claude looked up. Bright green eyes of a forest deep meeting with dull, blue oceanic pupils. Consuming. Affectionate. Love.

"Truly?"

Dimitri leaned in to give him one last kiss.

"Truly."

**I did not expect you to be so cruel. We really are related...aren't we, my b r o t h e r?**

_______________________

The sky bled blood-red and purple on the horizon with streaks of blue stretching over the sinking sun. Slow, scaled-like clouds with imprints of red drifted past the sky. The afternoon air was cool and the blue-white morning glories, which grew all along the hilltop had a light, perfume-like smell. The trees bristled with dark leaves dancing around and flying towards the bleeding horizon.

A small breeze blew around the top of the hilltop and raised goosebumps all along Dimitri's legs and arms. He shivered and zipped up his coat as the boy next to him chuckled lightly. Claude, who was never used to cold weather, had worn layers before hiking up to the hilltop. While it was the beginning of Spring, evenings were still chilly.

The boys sat right near the edge and watched the sunset with their fingers slightly latched into each other intimately. Silence hung between them serenely with a rare peace that both found rather peculiar yet welcoming. The birds chirped in the distance, small marks thinning out beyond the horizon, and all was left was the wind.

"This is nice," Claude remarked and closed his eyes; his dark hair fluttered around his face, and a soft smile slit across his face. "This was...a really nice day."

"Yeah," Dimitri agreed and kept his gaze to the dying sunset.

His heart was not beating and his blood ran slow and cold. The wonderful peace between them was always going to be fleeting and Dimitri could sense it slip past his fingertips like sand. And for the first time, he was not the ignorant of the two. He understood that tragically well.

"I missed you, Dimitri. I was really worried when...you know," Claude continued. "Of course, I know your house takes care of you well. But it didn't sit well with me not being able to see you in months."

"I know. It's still a haunting time for me but I do feel a bit better. Everything will never really be the same but that's life, right? Changes. Even ones you won't like."

"Sure, but you also have the power to make your own changes. I can't imagine ever letting my own life get dictated by the circumstances around me—you have to do it yourself."

Dimitri's blue eyes riveted over to the boy, cold and plain. "I have to do it myself?" He repeated.

Claude nodded nonchalantly and laid back on his elbows. "Definitely. Gotta take every advantage that comes your way or forge your own path. Even if it means running over a few people along the way."

"You're quite the pragmatist."

"Gotta be. This world does have any obligation to be kind to you. Always remember that, Dimitri."

The pale boy hummed mechanically and turned back to the setting horizon. The wind blew his golden locks around his eyes, and he realized that, for the first time, how long and unkempt his hair was. Everything about him seemed older and it left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth.

"Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you," Claude started with a small smile. "It seems like I'll be taking over my grandfather's company after all."

"Wait, seriously?" Dimitri asked in a high tone. "What about your uncle?"

"Ah, it seems like he made a personal life decision and left the family company. My grandfather wrote to me and asked if I would like to work with him after graduation."

"I see..."

Claude gave a playful laugh and patted the other boy's still back. "Oh, come now, Dima. Why do you sound so sad? I'll be able to stay here in Fódlan. Granted, mostly in Derdriu, but still! We'll still see each other. I mean, Derdriu and Fhirdiad are...pretty far but it's better than Almyra---"

"I'll be living in Kleiman."

"Huh?" The young man stopped in his pleasant chatter and tilted his head. His expression faltered slightly and he sat up fully. "Where is that?"

"Kleiman is a region on the coast...near the border of Duscur. I'll be living with my uncle Rufus." Dimitri tried his best not to show the panic on his own face as he stared right into the clear, growing despair in Claude's eyes.

"Duscur...is on the other side of Fódlan."

"I know. But he's my only family left and it would be best if we were together."

"But we will still be able to see each other right?" Claude asked cautiously.

When Dimitri failed to answer, the young man gave a nervous laugh and scooted over—an unconscious move out of clear anxiety. His usual cool and sardonic face had paled with a bit of a shiver. The corners of his mouth twitched and he brought a hand over onto Dimitri's cold shoulder.

"Come now, my lion. Don't make it sound like this will be the last time we ever talk to each other," Claude said in a half-joking, high pitched voice.

There was clear panic there that invaded the shallow peace they shared and turned the air cold with desperation. Dimitri, the entire time, kept his eyes to the sun until it disappeared past the tree; he finally craned his head to meet with Claude's shaky gaze and he felt nothing. Maybe a bit tired, but nothing. What he had expected was grief and even hesitation on his part had transformed into an aching apathy. He felt nothing and saw nothing, and Claude became more animated under an unusually cool stare.

"Dimitri, is something wrong?" He asked in a small voice and sat back as if the other boy's body was scorching to touch.

"There is something I want to tell you," Dimitri said very slowly and went in for the kill—without warning and fully devoted. "I want to break up."

Glass broke from somewhere far off, shattering into a million sharp pieces—stabbing deep into the skin and through the flesh. Claude and Dimitri stared at each other, both unable to read the other—unable to recognize each other. Just two strangers sitting inches apart, sharing a pained and stilted breath. The statement hung between them like a terrible smell and only Dimitri stayed immune to it all as he watched Claude's mouth open and close wordlessly.

Finally, the other boy turned away until the darkness of the early evening shielded his face. Just a small, hunched over figure, cold and unmoving.

"Is that why...you were really accommodating today? You wanted this to happen."

"Yes," Dimitri said simply, without malice.

"Why?" Claude asked in a far-away voice. A broken, chilly voice like shards of glass glistening in the shadows.

"You know why."

"Do I?"

"You do—how long have you been keeping things from me?" The pale boy asked, keeping his own voice leveled and straight, even as his eyes burned. "I know now."

A humorless laugh and a shake of a head. "And what would that be, pray tell?"

"What you did to Felix," Dimitri confessed and felt the strong heat of two green eyes leering at him from the darkness.

"I see."

"You're not denying it."

"I don't have to," Claude stated without any emotion. "You already know."

The burning in Dimitri's eyes flourished and touched the chilly air. He wiped his tears away as a deep choke erupted from the pit of his chest. "Why...why would you hurt him, Claude? What good would that bring?! Is it because he was going to tell me things about you?" He stuttered out; his mask had collapsed and all that was left was a betrayed grief.

The other boy shared no painful sentiment and remained eerily cold. "So you know, then," Claude said mutely.

"No, I don't. I don't know anything about you but it was enough for Felix to want to talk with me. I don't understand—how could you hurt him?!!"

"He was going to reveal everything and I didn't want to lose you."

"Well, that was clearly for nothing. Absolutely nothing," Dimitri choked and shook his head. Everything was swirling and hot and violent, and he felt like throwing up over the high cliff. "And since it clearly doesn't matter, what was it that he was going to reveal? Hm?"

Claude tilted his head and narrowed his eyes until it was just a pair of emerald slits in the darkness. Here he was: Claude the stranger. Claude, the boy Dimitri never knew—the one he met that night when he pretended to sleep. Claude the strangler.

"Remember when I told you that I was like you? That I killed people who threatened me? Well, those 'people' were...members of my own family. My cousins."

"C-Cousins...?"

"I poisoned them at a family gathering and watched as every one of them clawed at their necks—skin bleeding black and red, as their eyes bulged purple from their sockets and faces blued and swelled. Their mothers held their dying sons and could nothing as their children perished in a matter of a minute."

Dimitri did not speak; Claude continued, tone quiet and pleasant, as though he were describing a pleasant memory.

"It was just typical news for a small Almyran town and no importance outside of the country. Family members poisoning each other was the hot trend and no one really gave it any mind—except my family. After that, they thought me to be...sick and dropped me off here to get 'better'."

"...W-Why?"

Claude blinked. "My cousins? Because I hated them. Because they hated me. Because they were obstacles in the way of my happiness so I got rid of them. Is that not what you did to all the people hurting you and Edelgard, hm? And that uncle of yours---"

"You will not insinuate that you and I are alike!" Dimitri suddenly yelled and shot up until he was looking down at Claude with a white-hot fury. "I did what I had to because there were active threats in our life! My uncle...I, I still get nightmares over what I did! But you—you just killed your own family because they were an _inconvenience_!"

"So?"

A tone of genuine confusion. It lacked comprehension. He did not understand. Claude, the one Dimitri loved for a year, was sitting there and had his eyes half-lidded as though he were bored, listening to some off-handed lecture.

And Dimitri felt sick.

"See," Claude said simply, gesturing to the boy's clear hysteria. "I knew you would react like this. So that's why I wanted to silence Felix."

"You tried to kill him."

"Yes."

"A-And Edelgard...!" Dimitri stopped and went sickly white.

He actually did throw up a bit in his mouth, lurching forward with his hand clasped over. When nothing spilled, the young man swallowed it all down thickly and breathed out, haggard. He turned to Claude with half-crying eyes, only to see that the other boy had stood up. His thumbs were hooked in his front pockets and he bent forward slightly with a dark mask.

"Did...did you..."

Claude cocked his head. "Did I what, _Dima_?"

Tears spilled out and trailed hotly down Dimitri's red cheeks. He breathed out, catching air violently in a constant string of sobs, and pressed his hand to his forehead. He could not see; he could not move; he could not feel anything but an escalating heat that left even his clothes scratching at his boiling skin.

Dimitri finally turned away towards the black horizon and shook his head in deep, hot despair.

"You and I are _fucking_ done," he stated loudly. "If you ever come near me or my friends again, I will end you, Claude."

"Khalid."

"What?!"

Claude—Not-Claude stepped forward until he was standing a few inches away from Dimitri's shivering form. His face bore no emotion, his voice had no love. A robot simply moving and speaking upon an invisible command. A thing that wore the face of Dimitri's first and last love.

"My name is Khalid," It stated once again and reached over to place an incredibly cold hand against Dimitri's chest, feeling a frantic pacing heart beneath. "I want you to know that. To remember that. I love you. I love you so much that I lost myself. I love you so much that it fucking hurts. For the first time in my life, I felt things that made me weak and vulnerable. I lost in the battle of my own emotions and it was scary. And now, after a day of paradise, you aim to leave me in this disgusting, human state. If anything, you're the evil one here, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd."

"Khalid..."

Khalid tilted his head at how his name escaped from the other boy's lips. A terrible curse; a witch's spell of misfortune. He smiled; a white crescent moon in the darkness, and leaned forward until his lips hovered just near Dimitri's.

"Your voice is the sound that keeps me up at night. Let me indulge one last time before we depart."

And those hungry, possessive lips pressed in, eating Dimitri up in a violent storm. Everything swirled and blew around them, and all Dimitri could see or feel is the monster of a stranger in front of him. A shadow—a phantom. A tongue forced its way in and the pale boy's mental walls collapsed as he closed his eyes and welcomed in the cold, wet darkness.

There was no love there—not anymore. Just a desperate loneliness and pain, something akin to passing electricity that ached the heart and made stiff the limbs. Dimitri knew that this was the kiss he would remember for years, not because it was the greatest show of affection but how it consumed everything within and made him feel empty.

He was in love with the killer of his home and family and he was sick in his refusal for physical revenge. Or perhaps he was sicker for leaving Claude—Khalid with a worse fate: he would never love him again.

When Khalid pulled away, his mask fell momentarily and revealed Claude from underneath. Clever, observant, and attentive Claude whom Dimitri fell in love with that day in the field. The boy smiled sweetly at him, ran a hand beneath his coat until the fingers touched the faint scar on Dimitri's shoulders. A reminder of their first meeting; Claude's permanent mark on him.

And then Claude said. "I love you, Dimitri. But this is a bridge I will have to burn—you will not leave me."

"What?"

Khalid was the one who smiled; the birds stopped singing all of a sudden, and the tree branches behind him fluttered out, forming black shapes over his head like a pair of antlers. Like a great stag.

The Stag King leaned in to whisper into the songbird's ear. "Goodnight, my sweet prince."

And the hand that laid over Dimitri's scar suddenly shoved the entire body back

Dimitri flew back and waited for when his back hit the ground—but it never did. Instead, the boy was shoved off the edge of the hilltop and plummeted down into the awaiting, black abyss below. The cold winds blew all around in him a loud rush—his hair flying past his eyes and clothes fluttering wildly.

He was descending deeper and deeper until the black antlers and green eyes faded away in the far distance. 

And Dimitri kept falling. 

He kept falling and falling, getting faster and faster. And as his body limped itself against the wind, he wondered if this was what Felix saw that day in Gronder Field. He wondered if this was what love was like—the true face of love. The ugliness of it all.

He wondered if those green eyes at the very top of the hilltop cried for him or even felt any shred of sadness. Or were they all doomed from the beginning.

And Dimitri kept falling. He kept falling until he saw nothing but a sea of stars in the night sky. Twinkling brightly with a full moon overhead. The moon and the stars in loving unity, two souls together for all eternity.

 _The night is beautiful, tonight._ Dimitri, in awe, that he could hear his own thoughts, not a voice, for once. _Especially the moon and the stars...don't you think, Cl—_

Then came silence.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So....I said I would update this work...two months ago? I am so sorry for the long delay XD, you see, the Dimilix ship took me over as the black plague took over a peasant drinking from a rat-infested well. And I kinda went on a long, long bender. 
> 
> But I still love dmcl so here I am! With *gestures to this hot and broken mess* whatever this is. Anyway, I am super sorry for anyone who was expecting a happy ending haha. I will be finishing this piece before the month ends with Chapter 10 probably be uploaded the week after~ 
> 
> So yeah, thank you for everyone for dealing with my bullshit and enjoy-not enjoy this sad 17k chapter in an ugly, twisted romance because I am a terrible human being. Come and chat with me at my [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/Meatbike344)


	10. The Final Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A future, uncertain and grieving, as a goodbye is exchanged from across the sea

**Wake up.**

The boy woke up.

He woke up in an unknown bed, in an unknown room, in an unknown place.

He blinked twice; one for the left eye, which was crusted over from a very long sleep; one for the right eye, which was bound tightly with bandages.

The boy touched his face, the cold sweaty cheeks. He touched his neck and found a thin brace. He touched his long, golden hair which fell over his eyes. He touched his arm and chest and felt the extremely thin skin over a bony figure. The boy faintly understood the strange body he inhabited and peered around the room.

A brightly, white room.

A sterile, clean room. Beeping machines with blinking lights. Liquids in clear bags hanging from metal stands with tubes running up into his arms and legs. On one side of his bed was a large set of thick, rubber curtains that partially veiled him from the rest of the area.

And then, there was the sleeping stranger.

A dark-haired boy slumped over on the side of the bed with his face buried beneath his white arms, shoulders rising and falling with every breath. The boy stared at the stranger, tilting his head curiously and reached over to poke him in the soft underside of his arm.

The stranger murmured and stirred slightly. Finally, the sleeping form shifted awake and he rose with a groggy yawn. He did not seem to notice the boy at first until he rubbed his eyes—burning, dying sunsets—and peered up, blinking into vision.

The stranger stopped. A mouth dropped and a fiercely intense face brightened like a glaring, all consuming sun—swirling and swirling enthusiastically.

The boy did not know what else to do but smiled and gave a small wave. Movement was painful. He realized this when a sharp prick ached in his shoulder and he let his arm fall back to his side.

No one said a thing; only the machines spoke, and their language was numbers.

Finally, the dark-haired stranger with red eyes drew close. His body eloped over the bed and he reached over to place two cold hands on both sides of the boy’s face. The boy winced at the sudden chillness and blinked back at the riveting stare of awe that captured him so endearingly.

And they stared.

After a while, the stranger blinked very slowly, as if trying to wake up from a lucid dream and pulled away. He continued to stare at the boy, but his demeanor had become bristled and fearful. As if he spotted something distasteful with the boy and needed to move away.

The boy, on the other hand, was confused at the stranger’s action and cocked his head. He did not know if he should speak—say hello and ask if he were alright. Instead, the boy smiled again—a bit nervous, and mustered another wave.

The stranger actually bolted out the room this time, disappearing past the curtain in a blur, and the boy was left alone again. He stared at the spot where his companion once stood before rolling his stinging eyes around the artificial lights glaring from the ceiling.

It was here that he keenly recognized that he was in a hospital. A private room just for him. And he wondered if that boy was a nurse or some kind. Perhaps he had gone to find a doctor.

The boy wondered why every place in his body ached terribly or why he could not really move his legs. There were so many questions running through his head that he never noticed that an entire crowd of strangers had flooded into his room.

The boy looked up and was nearly assaulted by a larger body.

A pair of gloved hands, cold and smooth, clasped over his small face desperately and he was gently forced to look upon an older man’s visage. Faint wrinkles beneath the arctic blues, a head of golden to white hair, and a mouth slightly agape. A voice came out, one that needed sleep and drink, and it softly pacified the panic rising in the boy’s chest.

“Dimitri, Dimitri, Dimitri,” the man gave a low, wild mantra and brought their foreheads together. The boy felt nothing but an overwhelming love and stayed still as the man continued. “Can you hear? Can you see me? By the goddess, you’re actually awake. You’re actually awake!”

“Come now Rufus. You’re scaring the boy. See, he is awake—come, and let me see him,” a pale woman commanded and stepped forward from the crowd of onlookers. The man—Rufus—seemed hesitant to obey but once the boy gave a small smile in response. He backed away just a foot, allowing the woman to slip through.

A beautiful woman with long pale hair like a salmon’s scales in the sun, and enchanting gem-like eyes. She was draped in a white coat—the signal of a doctor, and bent over to deeply look into the boy’s one free eye. He did not move, but he was not afraid. Instead, he merely waited and continued to smile.

“Can you say hello to me?”

The boy nodded very slowly and said hello. Tried to say hello. It came out extremely hoarse and scratchy like a broken record and he immediately stopped, shyly pink.

The woman chuckled. “That’s alright. I was expecting there to be some trouble speaking. It has been a while after all. Now, I’m going to do a series of small tests and I need you, in your best voice, to answer back, okay?” She asked in a patient, encouraging voice.

The tests were simple movements; the good doctor commanded for the boy to stare straight ahead and tell her how many fingers she was holding at the corner of his one eye. She made him follow her single finger left and right, and even had him call out different letters and numbers from a far-away chart on the wall. With every word that escaped from the boy’s lips, the sound scratched painfully along the walls of his throat, and he had to stop at various moments.

Finally, she checked over him personally—peering all along his body, at the machines, at the chart on his bed, and continued to ask him questions on if he could move his arms or legs. Throughout the entire time, the boy kept shifting his gaze to the crowd.

The man, Rufus, stayed close and seemed nervous for just being a foot away from the bed. He looked old and tired, and the boy was almost tempted to ask him to sit down. At the far wall of the room was the crowd that piled with the doctor; people whose eyes and mouths were open in a great, white awe and watched intensely.

The dark-haired stranger was there as well, standing in a muted, methodical silence next to another boy. Taller, stronger—weaker in the soul, softer in the gaze—of red hair and sad eyes. He noticed the boy on the bed staring at him and he perked up with his face lighting up like a million stars. It was warm and brotherly. Next to him was a girl. She had golden hair and eyes of green, glistening wetly. She wiped the tears away and buried her face into her arms. And next to her, was a tall—taller boy. Tall. Dark-skinned. Silver-haired.

Scary.

The boy felt nervous looking at him, though he could feel the extremely gentle and attentive nature underneath, and went back to looking at the kind doctor hovering around him.

The hospital staff was strange.

“Well, all of his faculties seem to be working properly,” the doctor remarked kindly over to Rufus. “His left eye can see quite well and he has replied well to all of my questions, so there doesn’t seem to be any problems there. Though his voice will need some help adjusting for a bit. He can move his arms but he will need to be in a wheelchair for quite some time and some intense physical therapy so he can start walking again.”

“Are there any problems...with his head at all?” Rufus asked, staring straight at the boy. “I mean, he’s been gone for so long.”

“All the tests came back fine. Though, as I told you a few months ago, we could not salvage his right eye. He’ll need to see an ophthalmologist to help him adjust with his new vision. But his other eye can see perfectly fine so that’s good.”

“Oh, thank the goddess,” Rufus bemoaned and rubbed his face, sighing outwardly. The boy could not help but notice how dark the rings beneath the man’s eyes were or how he faintly smelled like alcohol, which wafted around him in a lingering smell.

“He’s been eerily quiet,” stated the dark-haired stranger. Not once has he removed his eyes from the boy, the blinding radiance of his stare consuming the room like a wild fire. Those around him also seemed to noticed and watched intently.

“That’s pretty normal for our patients waking out of a coma. He just needs some time readjusting,” the doctor explained and stepped back, allowing Rufus to take her place beside the bed. “I would suggest asking very simple and slow questions right now, just so that he’s not pushing himself.”

“Dimitri, are you feeling okay?” Rufus asked.

Dimitri? The boy, not knowing what to say to this, merely replied with a weak yes. A faint and fleeting relief passed over Rufus’s weary visage and he sighed out longingly. Every action of his confused the boy for it was all so intimate and affectionate, like a mother’s overexerting love for her child.

He turned to the side, over the group standing afar, and gestured for them to come over. Closer up, the boy saw that they were all around his age—hardly old enough to work at a hospital. Perhaps they were all Rufus’ children.

“Hey buddy,” called out the boy with red hair as he sat on the other side of the bed; the new weight pulling the boy closer. He was smiling, even if the corners of his mouth twitched nervously and his eyes glistened faintly. “How are you doing? Does anything hurt?”

The boy replied no and the redhead nodded.

“Goddess, your other eye...can you feel anything in there?” The golden-haired girl asked from behind him. She was peeking around his shoulder, face clasped with an attentive worry.

The boy shrugged and tried blinking on the other eye. Due to the bandages, he could not really tell though he faintly felt the passing of air in an empty socket. He was not sure how he lost an eye—there was no pain there, however, and he did not give it any more attention.

“Should I get him some food? He’s so skinny…,” remarked the taller boy.

He was frowning deeply, grazed over in a deep and bitter concentration to the boy. This boy looked like frowning was natural to him, a terrifying unpleasantness that cast a thin, invisible wall around his mighty figure. And yet his words made the boy feel safe and warm.

“I’ll have the kitchen staff bring something soft up,” the doctor reassured and the taller boy nodded, somewhat satisfied.

Then finally, there was the dark-haired stranger.

The one the boy had woken up to sleeping by his side, had stepped forward with a pensive look. There was an anger there the boy could not put his mind on, one that flared with accusation, hurt, and especially grief. It confused the boy greatly and at the same time, deeper within, emerged a dormant emotion—specifically to this individual.

It was a shame.

“Why…,” started the stranger harshly, his deep voice cutting out the white noise of the machines and the chatter in the hallway. His eyes flared up and there was a snarl. “Why did you jump off the cliff?”

The boy tilted his head and mouthed the word ‘cliff’ in confusion.

“Yeah, the one you fucking jumped from—why did you do it?”

“Felix! He just woke up!” The girl shrieked at him but he threw his hand over as if to silence her.

“I don’t fucking care! He’s been gone for...what, five months?! We all were killing ourselves over this bastard just because he decided to ignore all of our support just to die. And he couldn’t even do that right!”

“Enough—you will not speak to him that way!” The tallest boy bellowed, his large fists clenching tightly together with veins running along his muscular arms.

“Dedue, you should feel the most angry—he fucking tried to kill himself!”

“Son, please, we can talk about this later,” Rufus urged quietly with the doctor looking on in absolute shock; they stood protectively over the boy on the other side with the man having his hand placed on the boy’s thin, shaking arm.

“Fel,” the redhead said weakly and shook his head. “Seriously, now is not the time.”

“No, I’m not letting him get off easy!” Felix declared and stalked right up to the bed.

He shoved the redhead aside and grabbed the front of the boy’s gown, pulling him up until their noses touched. The boy stared at the mouth of a dragon’s cave—glowing red eyes and a hiss of smoke pouring out before the final blow of flames.

All around him, there were voices merged together in chaos, too loud to process, too crazed to understand. And yet, all the boy could see and hear is the brightly lit and fuming visage of raw anger and betrayal in front of him, eating him up all entirely.

“Tell me...why would you do something so selfish? The minute I fucking leave, you decide to go off the deep end and drag everyone else in your self-loathing and despair. Why did you try and kill yourself?” Felix asked slowly—brutally with every word slipping out and stabbing inward like small pin needles.

And as the voices rose in power—people demanding for him to let him go and step back; Rufus reaching over to pry Felix’s hands away from the front of the gown, and the doctor running along to grab some help, the boy found his voice deep down and spoke.

“Who are you people?”

Somewhere nearby, someone dropped a coin.

And it rolled and rolled and rolled.

**Now look what you did.**

____________________

His name is Dimitri.

Rufus is his uncle.

Sylvain is his friend.

Ingrid is his friend.

Dedue is his friend.

Felix is...a friend?

Dimitri had fallen from a cliff at a boarding school he attended.

He had been in a coma for five months.

And now, he is awake, in the Fhirdiad General Hospital, transferred from Remire Medical. He is here and awake and speaking and eating.

And Dimitri could not remember anything past the awakening.

It was a birth with the first thing he saw being the coolness of his hospital room and the first person that spoke to him was the gentle scolding in his head.

A girl.

She sounded smart so Dimitri listened.

And he listened as everyone around him erupted in both tears, anger, and accusation. Rufus and the doctor were talking with another doctor in the far corner with the uncle looking back once in a while with shining eyes. Sylvain was trying to console Ingrid but she kept swatting at him, wiping her eyes and shaking her head. Dedue had left, unable to stay in the room any longer—his shadow was right outside the door, pacing back and forth.

And beside Dimitri, the angry one known as Felix had his face buried in his hands. He looked like he was mourning someone; his shoulder shook slightly and he appeared ready to break down and hit something at any moment.

Dimitri stared at him, poked at the boy’s cold arm, and asked with a small, reassuring smile. “What’s wrong, Felix? Why are you crying?”

And devastation broke like a slate over the boy’s sickly-pale face.

____________________

Rufus’ home—his home, was a very nice place.

It was located near the border of another country that closed itself off a long time ago. There were non-native red flowers everywhere, and they stretched out all the way back to that dusty horizon.

Dimitri thought they were very pretty and the one called Dedue—the tall boy with eyes of silver, told him that the fields were from the neighboring country.

The country was called Duscur.

Dedue promised to bring Dimitri there once the border opens up again in the far, far future. The boy could not wait for that day.

The three of them—including Dedue, lived together in a region called Kleiman. It was a small county just seated at the base of a peninsula of Duscur. Their home, a blue-white country house in the woods, was on a hill overlooking where the main road led to the border gates, with nothing but flowers and trees for miles and miles. The skies here were always red and smoky like fire, and the nights were as black as ink without any stars. Only a single white moon—a drop of paint against a pure blanket of shadow.

Dimitri liked it nonetheless, though he felt an odd resistance to the change of scenery. For one, white, chilly horizons were more comforting the stark blood that streaked the sky. And that blue flowers were prettier than red.

He never told Dedue this.

Rufus the uncle, worked for long, long hours. He never told Dimitri what his work was, only that he had to commute to a place up north called Itha every weekend or so. Most days, he spent at home, working from his computer. Dimitri would hear rapid typing coming from the closed study upstairs—he tried not to bother his uncle and followed Dedue around most of the time. They only met to eat dinner together and even then, Rufus struggled terribly to say anything.

He was scared. Why was he scared?

Dedue was very nice despite his perpetually angry expression. Dimitri really, really liked him.

And, just about every other day, he drove Dimitri to the hospital. There, the boy had to see a number of doctors. One was a physical therapist for his legs—she made him do a few strange exercises including having to slowly walk while clutching onto two bars.

Secondly, an ophthalmologist for his missing eye; Dimitri, strangely enough, did not seem to mind walking around with one vision. Perhaps it was the fact that he could not remember a time on what it was like with two eyes. He woke up half blind and that was how he saw the world. t

And third and perhaps the most difficult, a therapist. A green-haired man named Seteth. The man who smiled sadly and spoke with century wisdom. He was there to help ‘put the pieces back together’ and more.

Dimitri did not know what that meant—he did not even know why he was here. The physical therapist and ophthalmologist made sense as the boy could hardly walk and looking around with just a single eye has been rather inconvenient, but to be seated down for an hour and talked so personally, it confused him.

Of course, he knew that Seteth was there to help recover his memories, but—Dimitri did not actually cared to have them back. As far as he knew, he felt fine without them. And based on Felix’s outburst, it seemed like he was fine without them. But Seteth was insistent and never allowed him to leave until the hour was over.

During that time, the man asked Dimitri simple questions and showed him different objects, especially photos, as if to incite any reaction out of the boy. But he merely shook his head sadly and confessed that he felt nothing. And it was true: everything Seteth showed him so far were just cold, unfeeling things and Dimitri stared at each and every one of them with a boyish indifference.

Except one photo—a girl. One of long brown hair, lilac eyes, and an intensely stern expression. She stared straight at the camera, sitting poised in a warm sun room with a steaming cup of tea delicately held in her white hands. The boy drew close in a hypnotic state and reached forward as if to take it into his own hands.

Seteth immediately put it away and said that it was not the right time yet.

There were many things Dimitri did not understand. He did not understand why Rufus was so sad. Or why he had only one eye or couldn’t walk yet. Or why Dedue personally took care of Dimitri every day from feeding him to putting him to bed despite the boy’s protests. Or why the one called Ingrid cried every time she saw him. Or why the redhead called Sylvain went outside to smoke alone with every visit.

Or why the dark-haired stranger, the boy named Felix no longer raised his voice around him. In fact, he barely seemed to speak at all with the exception of a small greeting under his breath. Most of the time, Felix kept his head down and looked elsewhere, though Dimitri had a keen feeling that he liked him to stay as close as possible.

But there was one thing he understood well and it was that he knew who the girl in the photo was.

She was his sister.

**Took you long enough, Dimitri.**

Oh, and there was a voice in his head. Dimitri knows that it is her. Perhaps he knew since the beginning. And in knowing so, he told absolutely no one. The last thing the boy wanted was to alienate his family and friends even further. Since then, _she_ had been his constant companion, even if her scolding became unbearable at times.

But it felt like home.

Where was home? What was home?

Dimitri felt like he did not belong here anymore. No one really _saw_ him, exactly. They were scared of him—scared for him. Pitied him even. It was a constant state that fluctuated between a shallow calmness and outright unease. And Dimitri knew it well in the faces of his friends.

He was just a burden.

Things would be better off had he been—

Dimitri stopped; he felt like laughing.

Now why would he think of such a terrible thing? It was so unlike him—hopefully.

____________________

There was an inhumane cry.

The rain had stopped somewhere in the middle of the night; the moon shone through the silk curtains of Dimitri and Dedue’s room. The latter opened his eyes to the sudden flush of light and rolled over on the bed to peer through the thinness of the white, ghostly fabric to the wet glass.

Sure enough, right outside and stained against a pure black backdrop was a single, effervescent moon—an eye glaring down at the half-awake boy.

**Do you hear it?**

Dimitri laid stiff, heart pounding wildly. His hand ran cold and he immediately ought for Dedue’s larger body next to him. In the bedroom above, soft hymns were playing on Rufus’ radio for it was the only way for the uncle to sleep, and the lull of heavenly grace drifted through the lonely house like a phantom.

Then the lone, distant cry sounded once more; it shook the very core of Dimitri’s heart.

**It’s coming from outside.**

Dimitri carefully and quietly slipped down the end of the bed, his feet touching the stark chilliness of the bare floor with a muffled gasp.

**What are you doing? Stay in bed, Dimitri.**

The boy ignored her and walked out of the room. Faint shadows danced along the hallway as the song of a church choir began to solemnly sing throughout the entire skeleton of the house—their voices a disturbing comfort that drifted between the realms of sleep and death. Dimitri passed over quietly in an uneasy countenance, every step like a cat’s as he went over to the foyer and hesitantly looked out the window.

Their house was not that deep in the woods nor was it far from the main road. However, since the border closed for reasons Dimitri was never told of, there were barely any visitors coming down to Kleiman. As such, there were hardly any lights anywhere, not even from the cell phone towers that usually blinked in the distance. The only light came from a small lantern that swung from a post at the second entrance of the deeper forest.

**There’s nothing out there. Go back to bed.**

Dimitri stepped outside into that forlorn darkness.

The long wet grass wrapped around his heel and sent a sudden chill up his spine; the boy nearly yelped from sensation as another cry rang out. He looked up, white eyed, and saw that it came straight from the black, impenetrable depths of the forest—right past the lantern post.

The wind blew from the left and the light swung, sending shadows dancing back and forth against the trees. The cry sounded again—louder, deeper, like thunder before a storm; it beckoned Dimitri from afar and, like a charmed snake, he followed.

It was a sound Dimitri knew, but could not remember. It was one that haunted his dreams even if he never actually heard it in real life nor could he now really put any mind on what it was. The sound came from not a man but an animal—perhaps even higher than an animal itself. Something ancient. Something hungry.

And it wanted him.

Dimitri proceeded further, ignoring the voice of his nameless sister calling out to him desperately from beyond. The darkness flooded all around him eagerly as if it wanted swallow him up and consume him in that moment; he stopped at the lantern and peered out into the mouth of the abyss. An echo, a hollow wind, and an animalistic cry which lowered to a deep and grating chuckle.

Something was laughing and suddenly, the gentle light radiating near Dimitri’s face blew out in a huff; the pitch blackness dove in and Dimitri was floating around aimlessly in an endless, dark sea—adrift without any sight of land or direction. His heart beat dangerously against his ribs and he wanted to just turn around and run back to the house.

But he could not move; _it_ was staring at him.

Right from the mouth of the forest, glowing against the pure darkness like miniature moons was a pair of deep and aching green eyes. Eyes, which flared and struck the boy paralyzed. Eyes of the forest, so dark and abyssal that Dimitri felt his own life being sucked away with every passing second. And he could not move; he was trapped, like a rabbit caught in a predator’s sight.

Finally, those eyes stepped forward and out from the black curtains emerged a stag.

A large and towering creature with enormous, twisted antlers like dead trees branches merged into one another—the ends, sharpened dangerously. The stag moved very slowly, as though it were drifting on a cloud, and it approached the boy who cowered at the entrance.

**Get out.**

Dimitri could not move, even as his legs shivered from the cold, and blood ran furiously. The stag came closer, dark green eyes widening—a long tongue slipped out of its mouth and it licked its side of its face.

**Dimitri, I need you to move.**

The stag stopped inches away from the boy, peering down from nearly three feet up with its large, muscular body furrowed with deep tension. With hunger. With something else that scared Dimitri even greater.

**Move.**

It lowered its head, closing the distance between it and Dimitri.

**Move!**

Dimitri took off first. He knew that the house was not so far away and yet the complete shroud of darkness blinded him from the distance, and he felt like he was taking down an endless, stretching field. He was running through the pitch blackness

And then the dash of hooves trailed behind him. Malevolent steps crossing the wet grass, edging closer and closer and closer. There was a wicked howl, deadly sharp knives curling up right at the corner of Dimitri’s eyes along with a thick, excited breath.

Then, Dimitri felt his foot slip at a particular wet spot on the ground and he fell back in a yelp. He turned around and saw the shadowy figure of a stag. Green eyes glowing, eating him up inside and out, and the creature—his executioner—shrieked wildly and lunged down with its antlers pointed down for the kill.

____________________

Dimitri woke up screaming.

A strong pair of arms threw around his thrashing form and pulled him into a tight and loving embrace. Dimitri’s face, dripped in tears and cold sweat, was buried into the tight chest—a heart beating wildly, as he wailed into Dedue’s body, shaking furiously.

He cried, he shook, he tried to push the older boy away, but Dedue stayed resilient; he patted Dimitri’s back, spoke soft, rare affirmations of love, and pulled the weeping boy into his lap. They stayed like that, wrapped into each other’s warmth for a minute before Rufus burst in.

The uncle rushed over and tended to his hysterical nephew for the rest of the night. Up above, the choir sang of the Goddess.

_She watches her flock._

_She protects her lambs._

_She keeps away the predators._

**There is no Goddess.**

And Dimitri kept crying for the memories he could not keep and the Goddess that did not exist.

____________________

Dimitri developed a fear of deer.

No one understood why except for Felix and Sylvain.

After they got rid of all the pictures of deer around the house, the pair helped build a fence around the perimeter and slept over for the night.

Dimitri watched the boys sleep together on the floor of his room and wondered if this was what having brothers felt like. Dedue threw his arm around the shivering boy and Dimitri drew in close until he fell into a dreamless sleep.

The crying from the forest kept calling, and calling, and calling.

____________________

Her name was Edelgard.

Rufus kept a picture of her and showed Dimitri the morning they drove up to Fhirdiad to visit her grave. Edelgard: long chocolate hair, amethyst eyes glittering beneath the sun, shielded partially by a large white sun hat. She was laughing in a field of blue flowers, the same ones that graced the boy’s eyes as they drove up further north. It seemed like she was laughing at someone—the one behind the camera and there was a spot of pale skin at the corner of the photo.

For the longest time, Dimitri studied the picture before looking back up at her tombstone. He always wondered what she looked like and photos did little to grace her presence—he never met her in this new life of his and even now, pictures alone simply made him chase after a far-away fantasy—a world of _what-ifs_.

The only thing he had left of her was her voice and she was hardly sisterly.

Or were all siblings supposed to be so rude and biting to one another?

Edelgard was buried next to their parents, whom Dimitri found out much earlier were dead. Had been dead for years. Rufus had burned all photos of his brother in the past and had nothing to show for it.

And Dimitri felt nothing for he did not know his parents. Yet the knowledge of their absence emptied him deeply and all he could do is stare at the three cold slabs of stone probing out of the icy ground. Three names. Three plots of land decorated in flowers and candles.

Perhaps there should have been four.

**Now, you’re starting to sound like yourself. Even when you’re a mindless shell, you can’t stop thinking about such things. Just awful.**

Dimitri apologized and left flowers at Edelgard’s grave. Somehow, the action itself gave him comfort and he left closer to the sister he never met.

____________________

That weekend, Dimitri opted to stay with Felix and his father at their home on the coast.

The father, known affectionately as Uncle Rodrigue, was a sincere, all-loving man who were best friends with Dimitri’s dead father in their youth. He hugged and tended to Dimitri as though he were his own son and the boy felt a more fatherly warmth from Rodrigue than he ever felt from Rufus.

But he could not blame his uncle. Rufus was trying and even Dimitri could see it despite everything.

They lived on their ancestral region of Fraldarius, which was seated on the frosted coastline facing the outward to Eastern Fódlan’s seaside capital of Derdriu. On a clear day, one can actually see the city from across the sea.

Though, by the time of Dimitri’s arrival, the ocean was fogged up with a usual black rain that has both blessed and cursed their home with a never-ending drizzle. It was dark, morose, and exceptionally ‘northern’ in temperament.

The Fraldarius house was a house clearly meant for three; only Felix and his father lived there. However, there was evidence of another person living there—or once lived there, rather, for Dimitri never saw any other person than the two. However, there were times where Uncle Rodrigue put down more than three plates as if he were expecting another person. He quickly withdrew it as though he touched a hot stove—panicked and pained, and while Dimitri always noticed, he never asked.

Felix just stayed quiet. He never liked to talk these days.

It was one day where Dimitri was wandering around the house, taking in all of the furniture and pictures that hung from the wall. Many of which, included Dimitri in his youth as Uncle Rodrigue pointed out sweetly.

A boy with big blue eyes and golden hair.

And yet, Dimitri hardly believed it. For some reason, which terrified him greatly, the child in the photo was not him. Perhaps it was the fact that he could hardly recognize his own self in the mirror, but peering back at an image of his “childhood” without actually feeling anything at all—no love, no nostalgia, nothing—just a boy in a picture and the viewer looking at it.

A painting in a museum and the visitor in a detached admiration. But the boy propped up in a golden frame was not him and all he could do is look and wonder.

After a while, Dimitri tore his eyes away and decided to not humor any attempts at retrieving his memories through old and useless photos. It only made him feel even empty.

Eventually, Dimitri came across one picture that made him stop dead in his tracks. It was a large, silver-framed portrait, dropped right behind the electronic piano by the back wall as if someone went through the care of hiding it there. He was passing by towards the bathroom before he noticed the eloquent carved frame sticking out of the corner of the instrument.

He looked around nervously before pulling the painting out; it was heavy and the frame was so old, covered in webbing and dust—probably had been there for years before he discovered it. The boy hauled it out and placed it down at the wall before taking a step back to take a look upon a family picture of three: Uncle Rodrigue, much younger, much healthier, even without his thin mustache.

There was a boy seated on his lap, one of round, boyish red eyes—Felix. A kinder Felix. Perhaps Dimitri should not say that: he doesn’t know Felix and it was not as though the dark haired boy wanted anything to do with him.

And then there was another person.

Dimitri’s heart stopped and he realized that he knew this person. And he left like crying.

“What are you doing?”

Dimitri turned around and nearly yelped at the sight of Felix right behind him. Since the boy rarely spoke, his deep voice came out as a foreign growl and knocked the wind out of Dimitri’s lungs. The slow crawl of shame slipped up against his spine and Dimitri felt as though he were caught doing something forbidden. Instead, he rubbed the back of his neck, cast his eyes down to the floor, and reluctantly stepped back.

A small gurgled noise emitted from Felix’s throat and he swallowed down.

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry—I should not have touched anything,” Dimitri apologized in a small voice.

“Well, it’s already out for the world to see,” Felix muttered without malice and stepped forward to the painting.

The dark-haired boy stared silently at the painting with Dimitri watching him from afar. There was a grave intensity that came from the deep and methodical way Felix knelt down to get a closer view, his hand reaching over and hovering right over the image of the young man standing behind his father. To Dimitri, it seemed like he was hypnotized, in a very fleeting trance like a possessive day dream.

Then, Felix shifted back, looking over to Dimitri while gesturing to the mysterious third member of the family. The stranger in question standing tall and proud in the photo—Dimitri just realized how similar the young man looked to Rodrigue, right down to the thin line of a smile.

“Do you know who he is?” He asked.

Dimitri shook his head and the other boy chuckled spitefully with a shake of his head—his expression furrowed darkly, though it appeared that he was hardly surprised by it all. Disappointment, even.

“Of course, you don’t,” Felix grumbled and clicked his tongue. “That person there, he was my older brother, Glenn. He was fifteen when we had this photo done. Now I’m older than him.”

The implication was clear.

“What happened?” Dimitri braved himself in asking. His voice sounded like a broken squeak from a chewed up dog’s toy, and he touched his throat immediately afterwards.

“You should know. You were there, of course. But your uncle never told you, did he? No, I suppose not. That man and everyone else thinks you should be kept nice and safe like a little bird in a cage,” Felix said without a hint of malice. He gazed with a rare gentleness towards Dimitri, blinking slowly before shifting back to the painting. “But I will do no such thing. I will not coddle you.”

Felix breathed very slowly through his nose and closed his eyes. Even then, Dimitri—the hollow, memory-less shell of a boy without a concrete past, felt something deep from beyond, twisted and turning like a sick, spewing pile of bile into the pit of the stomach. Dimitri consciously covered his mouth and felt sick.

“W-What happened?” He finally asked, feeling Felix’s eyes on him once more.

“A car bombing. One that took the lives of your parents as well,” the other boy said bluntly. When Dimitri’s mouth dropped wordlessly, he continued, even stronger. “Glenn died protecting you when he took the heat of the blast. They found you passed out right under his half-burnt corpse.”

“I---”

“Your late father was the former president of this country. The trip was a diplomatic trip to the country of Duscur, the one you and your uncle live so close to. They believe the attack was a coordinated assassination from either Duscurian patriots or scornful Fodlaners. Either way, you’re the only survivor.”

“I don’t---”

“Remember? Of course you don’t. And why would you? Even when you look upon the face of the one who died for you, you don’t remember a damn thing. I bet the same thing goes for when Rufus showed you Edelgard’s photo, hm? Absolutely nothing—their legacy gone from the mind of the boy who can’t even remember his own parents.”

“W---”

“What memories do you have? If none at all then I’m seriously wondering what’s the point of them funneling you through all these doctors and experts as if they can put you back together again. Because, to me, it sure does not look like nothing can be done here. Especially if you can’t even recall _him_. What’s even the damn, fucking point? Tell me, Dimitri—what?”

Dimitri stopped. There was nothing more that had to be said. Felix never rose his voice nor was there any harshness slipping out from his speech. It was all said so plainly that he were merely stating facts from a textbook. With this bored, weary drawl and an impatience to be done with. Dimitri’s heart pulsed painfully against his ribs, a numbness struck his lungs, and he touched his remaining eye.+

Wet.

“You hate me,” he finally concluded, trying not to look directly into Felix’s eyes.

“No,” the other boy was quick to dismiss and stood up straight. “I care about you unconditionally.”

“Then why did you tell me all those things? That it’s my fault Glenn died.”

“It isn’t—that was your assumption. And all those things I told you were necessary. I would not stand by and watch everyone shuffle around you like some damn, lost child. Ignorance won’t help bring you back,” Felix stated, coming a bit closer until he was close enough to reach his arm out and gently jab his finger into Dimitri’s shoulder.

The boy winced. “And if I don’t come back?” He asked hesitantly.

“Then we will have to start from day one, won’t we? But try and stay your tongue from stupid hypotheticals like that. It will do you no good.”

“I’m sorry, Felix.”

“Don’t be. I spent the last few days thinking to myself,” the boy confessed and tilted his head. “Trying to make sense of _you_ , and I decided that I’m not going to leave you alone.”

Dimitri’s one blue eye lit up and the corners of his mouth twitched. “Felix…”

“Don’t get me wrong—I’m not babysitting you. I’m not trailing you like some worried mother hen. I won’t spare you any detail nor will I treat you like some bird with clipped wings. But I don’t someone like you should be left alone with people who think healing means coddling,” the dark-haired stranger explained with his arms crossed, face hard and stony. Despite this, the declaration was exceedingly warm and Dimitri could not help but laugh a bit at this.

“I was so scared. I thought you hated me,” he said, a bright smile borne out of relief.

“Hm, see? Now you sound like yourself.”

“Was the old me this self-conscious?”

Felix whistled and rolled his eyes. “Like you wouldn’t believe. A real weepy fucker. Now come on—wipe the stupid grin off your face and let’s go to lunch. I know a good place by the coast that serves the best cheese dishes,” he said, passing by Dimitri with a nonchalant wave of his hand.

The other boy whirled around, beaming. “Oh, I love cheese! Do you think they’ll have Gautier gratin?” he asked hopefully.

Felix stopped dead in his tracks. He peered down at his boots and expelled air harshly from his veiled, grinning teeth. “Hah! I’m beating Seteth at his own game. Isn’t that funny, now?”

____________________

The coast of Fraldarius was a sight to behold. Gray waves of icy water lugging against the cold shores of the rocky beaches. Bird cawing overhead and flying outwards the rainy horizon—black silhouettes fading away until they were nothing but thin lines across the sky.

There were still boats drifting along the waves with fishermen out and seated with drinks in their hands. The incandescent quiet of the coastline was one that had always followed the northern part of the country, as though it were covered in a thin layer of snow.

Dimitri stood right at the water, where the shore faced what Felix pointed out to be the port of the Eastern Fódlan's Derdriu. However, when the boy peered out to that vast and endless ocean, all he could see were rain clouds, thin mist, and a darkening, smoldering horizon.

He was not sure what else awaited him in the future. Based on Felix’s words, it was clear that everyone was scared for him, scared of him even. That the old Dimitri was someone of such a grave melancholic nature that suicide was not an uncommon thought to him. Sadness followed that boy like a plague and now all Dimitri had left of that old life was the sticky, uncomfortable want to feel sad. But it was hard to muster and left a strange hollowness inside of him.

And he now wondered, as he had been for days, whether he really did try and kill himself that day on the cliff. And if that was the case, who is to say that such terrible wants would return along with his memories. Dimitri was not so sure. He was lost, drifting around aimlessly and all he could do is allow the waves to take him in a direction.

The water ran up and splashed against his legs—icicles stabbing through his pants and into his skin, and Dimitri backed away with a shiver. So far, the places he had been to in Northern Fódlan were exquisitely lonely, and even now, it seemed like nature itself wanted to be kept alone. All in all, the tremendous sensation of universal loathing and cynicism was deeply ingrained here, and Dimitri faintly wondered if the other provinces were better.

Edelgard was said to have come from Southern Fódlan as her birthplace. Felix said that it was a much sunnier, more prosperous region compared to the north with the majority of the political power resting there. However, Eastern Fódlan was the financial giant as it served as the base of operations for the top corporations. Gloucester, Goneril, Hyrm, Riegan---

Dimitri stopped dead.

He blinked and stared out hypnotized past the gray horizon towards where the city of Derdriu was sleeping behind the mist and clouds. Something in his recollection of his usual readings on the country had stolen his breath away and he was left feeling distraught from the experience. That last name, it rang out in his mind like a church bell—echoing on all sides until he swayed with dizziness.

In the far, far distance, across the great black ocean, the fog parted slightly and Dimitri could just make out the high sunny steeples of Derdriu. And somehow, he felt it: the stare of someone from on the other end—seeking him in the same desperation as two pieces of one soul, separated by miles and miles of water and sky.

**You remember him don’t you? The one in the forest who stands tall over the trees. His shadow is long and his eyes are glowing like a God’s. You loved him. You worshiped him. You feared him.**

**My killer. Our killer.**

**Is the Stag King still there, waiting for your return? Will he come down and devour you again and again until you are nothing but dust and bones?**

**C** _l_ **a** _u_ **d** _e_ **.**

____________________

Derdriu was a living painting.

The streets were lively in an explosion of colors and voices, people from all over the world presented at the famed port city. And yet, despite the brightly-lit and warm miasma of pleasure, Claude was being haunted by a ghost. The phantom crossed the painted road, around the fisherman's market, and over by the boardwalk, where he disappeared without once looking back.

The shops and houses were all painted over in creamy pastel colors like seashells found on the nearby sugar beaches and bells from the small businesses rang out in a gentle unison. The faint smell of fish and cooked seafood overtook the area and tourists from the south tossed the keys to their multi-million dollar cars to the valets before entering in one of the finer establishments—five-star seaport restaurants right on the water.

Claude navigated himself around the crowds on the boardwalk and kept his eyes glued towards the railing for someone in particular. At the corner of his eyes, the phantom was there again—he stopped right along the railing, beneath one of the flag poles without showing his face, and Claude resisted the urge to go after him.

Soft golden hair and pale skin.

He unconsciously drew close before the stranger turned around and revealed himself to be a mere impostor.

Claude continued without another feeling.

When he first arrived at Derdriu, his grandfather instructed the young man to seek him out at the end of one of the boardwalks, closer to where the white-sugar beach meets with the ocean looking outwards the northern part of the country. However, this was difficult for Claude for two reasons: one, he had never been in the city before so navigating the colorful streets was a challenge, especially with how chaotically busy it was today. And two, Claude never met his grandfather before.

How was he supposed to recognize someone he does not know? It was not as if Claude’s grandfather supplied him with any sort of details about him other than the possibility that he could look old. Even then, there were a dozen elderly men in the crowd alone.

After going up and down the main boardwalk, Claude buried his hands in his pocked and sulked around near the tiny shops by the railing. Finally, there was a tug on his sleeve and he glanced over. Standing right beside him was what Claude could describe a male version of his mother—light hair, green eyes glittering brightly, and taunt, dark brow. Immaculately handsome and sharp, despite the grays in his hair and the small white wrinkles around his eyes. Claude blinked and cocked his head curiously.

“How did you know?” he asked in a strange awe.

Claude’s grandfather, the great man of Riegan, nodded. “You look like your father. Come boy—let’s chat over here in privacy,” he urged gently.

Without another word, the boy followed the old man down the boardwalk and towards the other side of the crystal, shimmering white coastline. The one that faced the blue ocean and outward towards the region of Fraldarius in the north.

Once they were alone on the other side, where their only company were the waves splashing against their boots and the lone cry of seagulls soaring overhead. Claude’s grandfather, this man sharply dressed in platinum black against the backdrop of the yellow, pink, and blue skyline of Derdriu—the mark of a cold businessman. Beside him, Claude felt poor next to him.

“I heard you graduated,” the old man said simply. “Did you...get better?”

“Fine and steady,” Claude hummed without looking at him. He stared off at the sea as it glistened beneath the eastern sun. In the far distance was the thin smoldering of mist, which veiled the rocky coastline of Fraldarius.

“When your mother wrote to me, I was...appalled to say the least. Very appalled. Though I paid it very little mind since I trusted that Garreg Mach can sort you over. Better for your future anyhow.”

“Sort me out? I doubt you would even care as much for me if were not for Uncle leaving,” Claude pushed without a hint of accusation.

“Yes that’s true but could you blame me? I am but an old man and the legacy I leave behind is in the youth. And that was originally your uncle...and then he ran off to get married.”

Claude cocked his head, eyes widening. “He...fell in love?”

“Like your mother—the weak thing. Love is nothing but a cruel distraction from our ambitions and business. And both of my children fell for it,” his grandfather said lowly, clicking his tongue. His words, nearly a sharp insult to Claude himself did not come off as such, and the young man nodded.

“I...yes, I know,” was all he could say and the old man brightened up.

“Ah, you! You understand! Know this, dear boy, I have nothing against you. But I have witnessed too long how emotions can get the better of us. Succeed us. Control us. In my world—our world, we cannot allow such a thing to happen, hm? Not good for business.”

Claude nodded more firmly this time and stared off towards the ocean as it glistened white and blue. “Agreed. It’s a dangerous thing to fall under,” he muttered darkly, ignoring the weeping in his head.

“Ah, perhaps your uncle leaving was fate. He was always so sensitive...but in doing so, I have found my right successor,” his grandfather said with a bright smile, the corners of his mouth darkening the wrinkles around his face. “I was always told that you were a sturdy lad. A bit stoic and alert, but such are good assets to our family’s legacy. But let me ask you this: would you still want to undertake the journey to be Riegan Tech’s successor? It would mean giving up any current dream—“

“My dream is **dead** ,” Claude spat out suddenly, voice thick with spite and grief. His green eyes darkened and he almost seemed overtaken by a malevolent spirit. “There’s nothing left for me now.”

“You have abandoned all and have decided to come to me? Well then, this is certainly good fortune indeed. And here I was thinking I would have to leave the succession to one of my executives,” Claude’s grandfather said humorlessly and Claude got the impression that the old man made these funny-not-so-funny quips very often. It was rather unnerving though he simply chalked it up to his grandfather having been in the family business for a very long time.

Such things can turn any person cruel.

“But you’ll also be abandoning your home in Almyra. Are you so sure---”

“Yes,” Claude said quickly with his eyes still straight to the far-away, foggy horizon. This ended all discussion on the matter and his grandfather hummed, pleasantly surprised.

“Well then, this truly is good fortune. Why don’t you spend the day exploring the city? It will be your new home from now on. Oh, and tomorrow morning, we will go off to meet the rest of the company heads of Eastern Fódlan. Gloucester, Goneril, Edmund---”

“I went to school with most of their children.”

“Ah, how convenient. Yes, you will see a popular trend with troubled, silver-spoon children with Fódlan. But you will be the example of valor, won’t you?” The elderly man said and touched Claude’s arm in a small gesture of seldom affection. He coughed hoarsely into his fist and stared at the young man with a slight twinkle in his forest eyes, like a spark of light flooding from the trees. “Now, I was told that your name was Khalid and yet, the school said that you called yourself Claude. Was that more of a brand for yourself?”

The young man shrugged. “I just wanted to fit in. I don’t think having such a...foreign name will fly here in Fódlan.”

“As pragmatic as that is, I still have some respect over personal identity. What would you prefer to be called here?”

_Khalid is dead. He has been dead for years, buried deep in Almyra._

“Claude’s fine. Better for the business card.”

“If you say so, my boy. By the way, would you like to come join me for dinner? There is this splendid lobster bistro by the yacht port.”

“I think I would like to stand here for a bit. I’ll come and find you once I’m done,” Claude said absently.

“Of course. Take your time and enjoy the view. Did you know that across this thin stretch of ocean is the rocky coast of Fraldarius? We are surprisingly not that far from the bitter north.” The grandfather gave one last satisfied chuckle before stuttering off towards the bustling boardwalk.

The wind along the beach lifted Claude’s hair, dropped it over his eyes, and played with the helm of his new windbreaker. The city, despite being known as a sunny and warm place, was notoriously cold in the evening; the sun’s fumes slowly died beyond the fog over the darkening sea, and the stars began to meander across the sky.

The ocean line wavered with the yachts and fishing boats weaving back and forth gently. A couple walked down the shoreline, hand by hand, with the woman leaned in to whisper something in the man’s ear. He chuckled before kissing her cheek with a smile.

The water swelled and bemoaned, with the folds slipping in and over itself with streaks of white and black. And very slowly, the fog dissipated from the horizon until the very faint silhouette of the Fraldarius port tower can be seen from afar along the northern mountains. Claude’s grandfather was not lying: they were not that far from Northern Fódlan in the slightest.

“Why would you look at that? You can see Fraldarius now,” remarked the man as the couple passed by Claude standing idle by the water.

“Oh, the north is so pretty at this time of year. Not so cold either! We should take a trip up to Fhirdiad soon and see the winter flowers in bloom.”

“That’s a promise, my beloved.” 

_Don’t think of him; leave him behind._

Claude kept his gaze to the silhouette of the land across the sea, tracing over the thin lines of the rocky beach to the small dots in the horizon—cargo boats no doubt, some which made the treacherous journey from the north to the east. Behind him, laughter ran out and the chatter of love and family assaulted his dulling mind.

Noise. There was too much noise for his liking. However, from the world, which passed over him in joy, he steeled himself well and true. 

_Abandon your memories of him. He’ll only make you weak, hold you back._

He was falling, falling from a place where they shared their first kiss of love. It was sunny when the white prince on the stallion took him up there; the sun was dying when they went up together by foot, silent and ignorant. The birds were not singing, the branches were rustling, and he was falling. He was falling so far and high that Claude could still see the blues of his eyes before they were extinguished like a flame in the darkness.

The waves roared suddenly and splashed against his legs; in that far, far distance, the space between Claude felt someone staring at from that other coastline, a stare so captivating that he could not move, even as the water came up cold against his skin. A missing part of him, seeking unification, and cried out from afar.

_Oh my beautiful, wondrous songbird._

_Are you still dead at the bottom of my cage or have you slipped away before I could look? All I see left over are blue feathers and the remnants of a song long gone._

_Oh, sweet songbird, call out to me. Let me hear your voice again before I descend._

_**Dimitri.** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go. We're finally here at the end. This was literally my first fic ever and I'm super happy and saddened that it came to an end. However, there is a sequel in the works for this fic, which will deal with the time skip as we were merely dealing with troubled teenagers. 
> 
> Will the sequel be as dark and tragic? Fuck yeah, I'm not going to dial things down XD but you'll all have to see come next month or January as I still need to work on an exchange fic hehe 
> 
> Come and chat with my sad butt at my [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/Meatbike344)


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